The Moments In Between
by Alidiabin
Summary: A sequel to "Scenes From A Life, Built Together". The story of Tony and Ziva as they navigate the first year or so of marriage, her new career, and building a family. Multi-chap. Tony/Ziva. AU from 10x24. #happyendings. Now complete.
1. And, This Is Where We Greet Them

Tony stepped out from the garage, with his backpack hanging off his shoulder, and shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He heard the tired buzz of the garage door, as it went down. Glad, it was closing on the mess that was their garage. It had been eight months since he and Ziva had moved into the house, from her tiny apartment, and in that time they had filled the house with so much crap. Most of the stuff, was for the renovations that they were working through on their nights and weekends. Ziva the lifelong apartment dweller of the two of them, had been better at getting rid of stuff, once it served its purpose. He on the other hand, tended to hoard the stuff in the dozens of closets in the house.

He stood on the path leading to the porch for a moment. Soaking in the early evening sun. It was May, and Spring had finally sprung, after a chilly April. It was Friday evening, and he had the whole weekend ahead of him. He was looking forward to it. The week had felt long, with people from the FLETC in Georgia visiting for a conference on curriculum colbaration. Tony ran his hand over his face. He was so tired.

He looked at the lawn, the blades of grass were reaching toward the sky. He really needed to the mow the damn lawn. He had been putting it off for weeks now.

He really should mow the damn lawn.

"There you are?" Ziva said as she appeared from the end of the rested a washing basket on her hip, filled with clean sheets. The warmer weather meant that she hung the laundry outside, because the heat from the dryer warmed their old house. "Hi."

"Hi," Tony said, as he handed her a bottle of wine, placing it on top of the laundry.

He also produced a bunch of flowers from behind him, and placed them on top of the laundry.

"Who are these for?" she asked, as she moved closer. He caught a whiff of the coconut moisturizer she had started using.

He studied her. Her hair pulled back in a messy bun. Baggy t-shirt over activewear leggings. Home clothes because she was home. They were home.

"You," he announced. Had she forgotten the previous days good news. She had been so excited when she called him. "To celebrate."

Ziva had spent the last semester on the job hunt, while also completing her degree. She had sat her last exams a few weeks before, and was set to graduate in the first week of June. It was one of the later graduations of colleges in the state. Schmeil was coming for the graduation, and Tony was trying to organise a dinner for the three of them. Ziva had gotten the third job she had applied for. There was so much to celebrate.

There was so much joy.

"Congratulations on the job," he said, as he leaned over to place a kiss on her cheek. The job was at an independent non-profit, called the Asylum Seeker Resource Centre, and known as ASRC. Ziva's job was a hybrid, part assisting with translations and group English classes, and part helping new immigrants wade through government bureaucracy. She was excited to finally use her degree to help others. "I knew you would be snapped up before you knew it."

She flinched away from the kiss. Then looked down at the basket, with wide eyes. Something was up.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, as he took her hand. They stood on the path in front of the porch.

He waited for her to say, that everything was fine. _I am fine_ , was her default response, ingrained into her after years where everything was not fine. Instead she shook her head.

"I got my period this morning," she said, her voice cracking with sadness.

Tony felt his heart sink. Another month. Another disappointment.

"Well, at least you can drink the wine," slipped from his mouth before he could stop it.

He watched as a spurt of anger ran through her. She looked up at him. Eyes squinted. Mouth slightly open. She was holding back harsh words.

"Sorry," he whispered, trying to put grenade back in. "I shouldn't have said that. I just didn't know what else to say."

She seemed soothed, and started to walk up the path, to the back porch to get back. She walked up the steps into the house. The basket resting on her hip. The wine and flowers bouncing on their bed of white sheets and blue towels.

He clambered to chase her. She was in such a rush. The flyscreen slammed in his face. For a moment he debated sitting on the deck, to allow her a moment to calm down.

"You know I didn't mean it," he said, as he opened the flyscreen door, and walked through. "I know that this has been hard."

She stood in the threshold of the house and the porch. Leaning on the door frame.

"I know you were trying to make it better," Ziva said. Her voice soft. Forgiving. "I know you want to make me feel better."

Eight years of partnership, two years of dating, and eight months of marriage, she had hit the nail on the head.

He wanted to make it better for her.

"Yeah," he said, as he followed her through the threshold. He closed the sliding door. They had discussed turning the narrow porch into a three season sunroom, for Ziva to read in. At the moment, it sat empty except for a laundry basket and some a half empty paint pot. "I don't like it when your upset."

Ziva placed the wine and flowers on the kitchen counter. The dishwasher hummed. The kitchen smelt like baked eggs and chargrilled vegetables. She had been busy.

The basket of laundry got dumped on one of the spare dining chairs. They had a dining set which could technically seat eight, but usually only sat them two. This house, even though it was smaller than average felt glacial. They were trying to desperately to fill it with life. And with love.

"I thought this month," Ziva started. Her lip quivering as she spoke. "My period was late. It was only a few days, but I started to wonder. I was looking for the other symptoms."

His heart crumpled. She had spent ages in the bathroom the night before, and now he started to wonder if she had been looking for other signs.

 _Early pregnancy symptoms are often mistaken for symptoms of an impending period_ , he had read on a leaflet Ziva had brought home from the doctor, once they had officially started trying. The leaflet, had not talked about the inverse.

"Oh," he said softly.

"It was probably just stress of the end of the semester," she murmured, as she took a seat with a grimace. Tony noticed, the bottle of over-the-counter painkillers sat on the table. Ziva had been off birth control since the wedding, and Tony had learnt that her unregulated cycle wreaked havoc on her body. There were headaches, cramps, and acne. There were also mood swings. "I feel so silly, like I was trying to wish it into existence. If only it was that simple."

It only it was.

He sat down in front of her. Their knees knocked. He placed his hand on her thigh.

"You're not silly," he said.

She had been hopeful. They had both been so hopeful.

"I am going to talk to Breena," Ziva said softly. "She is trying to get back in shape. She wants to go for a walk. I could ask her then."

Breena had the name of a fertility doctor, the one that Breena and Jimmy had used, and had resulted in Tori. He knew the road Ziva was heading down. It felt so clinical. He knew Ziva had been thinking about asking Breena for a while. He had seen the google search suggestions, when he borrowed her tablet to look up movie times.

"We've only been trying since January," he said, thinking of those leaflets again. _Infertility is defined as no pregnancy after twelve months of unprotected sex, or consecutive miscarriages._ "That's not even been six months."

They should still be in the fun part of trying.

"Technically, it has been longer than that," she replied.

Ziva had gone of birth control before their September wedding, but neither of them held visions of a honeymoon baby. For three easy months, they clumsily fell into bed, without much planning. Reveling in newlywed bliss, and christening most rooms in the house as they renovated them. In January, the 'trying' had kicked into full gear, Ziva marked preferred days, and measured temperatures. Sex was starting to become a chore.

"Still," he uttered. "Not a full year."

Ziva swallowed thickly. The facts did not change the sting of the disappointment.

"Last time it happened by accident," Ziva murmured. She had moved her face slightly, looking out toward the backyard. The lawn really needed mowing, Tony thought, as old feelings resurface. An ache in his chest. Sadness washed over him.

The wound was healed, but the scar was still sensitive. Maybe it always would be. Aching every so often.

Tony nodded. If that pregnancy had stuck, they would have a one year old by now. A child who would have been a couple of months younger than Baby autopsy gremlin.

Would it have been a boy or a girl? A colicky baby or a happy one?

He patted her thigh, and thought of the condoms that were tucked away in the guest bathroom. Maybe, they needed a break. Just a little break. A moment to breathe.

"I am sorry," she whispered. Holding her nose with her thumb and forefinger. He knew this look, she wanted to cry. She was trying to hold it back. Hold it in.

"What are you sorry for?" he asked. They were facing each other. Her eyes were bulging.

She look a long breath in and out. Inhale and exhale.

"For reacting like this," Ziva whispered. She bit her lip. "I was told this would be a difficult road. I should be more patient, but every month it just feels worse. Like it is not going to happen."

He leaned forward slightly. Pulling her closer.

"You've never been patient," Tony said, with a slight laugh.

She let out a half laugh. Her eyes were glassy.

"I am sorry it did not happen this month," Ziva said. Her lip quivering.

"Me too," he said softly. "But think about it, who wants to have a winter baby. Remember how paranoid Jimmy was about Tori getting sick when she was just born. Plus, we'd have to spend a ton of birthday parties. At least with a summer baby you can just send the kids into the backyard and call it a party."

Ziva nodded. A tear fell down her face.

"I just want an answer," Ziva said. Defeat creeping into her voice. "I want to know if it is going to happen. I want to know how long it will take. I do not think I can face this again. For a moment there, I was really excited."

He remembered the aftermath of the miscarriage. Nearly two years ago. All those worries voiced as they tried to heal. _What if I never fall pregnant again?_ _What if the miscarriages keep happening?_ _What if I cannot give you the child, you so desperately want?_

 _What if you leave?_ That one was never voiced, but Tony heard it all the sam _e._

"Even if we went to a doctor, they wouldn't be able to tell us that," he said softly. Bringing her back to reality. Gently.

"They would give us numbers," she replied. Voice firm. "We would know our chances. I want to be prepared."

Ziva always liked to be prepared for whatever battle she faced. And, Ziva always fought her battles.

"I know," he said softly, as he reached up to wipe the tear that fell down her face. "Let's give it until September, if nothing's happening by then, we'll go to the doctor."

Their wedding anniversary. Technically, a year since they had stopped trying to prevent pregnancy.

She nodded.

"Or, if you want to take a break," he started. Thinking again of the dust covered condom box under the sink. "We can do that too. Whatever you need."

"No," she said. Shaking her head dramatically. "I will try to be less militant about it. This part should be fun, right?"

It had been fun at first. Each month, he had hoped it had worked. Hoped that they would make a baby from their love.

"You're not militant," he said, with a soft voice. "You're directed. You always go after what you want. I love that about you."

She looked down at her lap.

"This will happen for us," he said. Willing it to the universe. "It might happen in a way that's a little different from normal, but that's always been us hasn't, taking the less beaten track. How long did it take us to get together, again?"

She let out a laugh. A full laugh. Her hair bounced. The sun was visible from the sky, after the rain.

"I am trying not to lose the joy," she declared. "It has been hard."

He nodded. This was not the first time, her period had caused angst. He knew the signs. Ziva seemed to retreat within herself, and was resistant to touch. Turning all of her disappointment inward. But, this unwanted period, had caused the worst angst.

"I know," he said.

He had noticed how quiet she had gotten over the past couple of months. She turned inward. Imploding. He had put it down to the stress of the end of her degree. Maybe, it was more than that.

The old ghosts, always did seem to resurface in the summer.

"I know I should be happy," Ziva said softly. "I have finally finished my degree, I got a job so quickly, and Schmei is coming to visit, but this is hard, like walking through cement."

She was stuck. Treading water, when she should be speeding through the water.

"I know you're trying really hard," he said. Rubbing her back. "Why don't we take it easy this weekend? I can go get some take-out. We'll watch movies. Maybe, go for one of those mega hikes that you call a short stroll, if the weather's nice. Whatever you want."

Whatever she needed. He wanted to look after her.

"I cooked," she announced."I needed a distraction this afternoon."

He nodded. He was facing away from the kitchen, so was blind to the crockpot in the corner, and the pot simmering on the stove.

"Okay," he said. Honestly, her cooking sounded better than the mediocre Chinese place that was the closet takeout to them.

"I wanted to cook," Ziva uttered.

It was an offering to the gods of fertility. Showing them that she could make something from raw ingredients. It was also an offering to him presenting him with something because she could not give him a baby.

"I love your cooking," he said. "You've even convinced me that eggplant can taste good."

I love you, he was saying. He could say it a thousand different ways. He wanted to say it forever. He would say it, until he could not talk anymore.

She smiled. A half smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Your father will be here soon," she said, as she started to move from the table. Needing to get moving. Ziva was not one to wallow.

"Why?" he asked, before remembering the day of the week.

The sun was starting to set. A deadline they could not escape.

It was Friday. Since, Tony had gotten a job that kept bankers hours, and they had moved out into the suburbs, the weekly meal shared with Senior had moved from Sunday afternoon to Friday evening. It had become a bastardised Shabbat, with the three of them. A Jew and two gentiles. Both father and son knew enough to avoid a serious faux pas.

"It's Friday," Ziva said softly. "He always comes over on a Friday."

Sometimes Ziva lit the candles, but the prayers were silent. Sometimes, Senior stayed for a movie, and if he had too much wine they would put him up in the guest room. Whether he went home on Friday or Saturday, he always went home with leftovers. Tony enjoyed the routine of it all. He and his Dad had gotten closer too, which was a welcome development.

"Okay," he said, as they both stayed at the table. Neither wanting to move. Holding on for just a moment longer.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

This is the sequel to "Scenes of A Life, Built Together". It focuses on Tony and Ziva and their journey to parenthood. As you will remember from the epilogue of that beast, the journey does end happily. However, like all journeys it has some difficult moments. It's probably best that you read Scenes if you have not already, but not necessarily "To Be By Your Side".

This is going to focus on Tony and Ziva. The other characters will be featured, with more significant roles for Senior and McGee. Other characters will get mentions, but I'm not sure if they'll get scenes.

I plan to have about thirty chapters, with the fic spanning about a year and a half, with various plot points with Tony and Ziva on the road to parenthood. For reference, this chapter is set late May 2016. This fic, like its prequel ignores most of the post S10 cannon. We still have Tori Palmer, Delilah and Ellie, but they'll be no McTwins. I haven't watched an episode since 'Past, Present, Future', and have not enjoyed an episode since 'Berlin'.

I write my interpretation of Ziva, a bit more Jewishly than they did in the show. However, I am not Jewish or religious. So, if I get something wrong, please let me know, and accept my apologies. I do research, but sometimes things can be misunderstood.

In the early fics of this series, Ziva did go to therapy. Hence her being more open. I worry about keeping her in character, so do let me know if you think she's veering to out of character. I will always defend Ziva, and her ability to love. She had so many reasons not to love, but chose to anyway.

Also, first chapter is a bit info dumpy, things get less info dumpy as we go on. The fic will have some angst, but also some happy moments, I promise.

I'm hoping to update every one to two weeks. I have some chapters sort of sketched out in advance. I'm hoping to finish this within the calendar year.

Thanking you in advance for any reviews for this fic, and apologies that the authors note is nearly as long as the chapter.


	2. Finding The Joy

Ziva smiled as she felt the sun on her face. She closed the front porch door behind her, and met Schmeil on the sidewalk. The old man was blowing into a handkerchief.

It was early June, but the temperature was still pleasant, due to the early hour. Tony was upstairs, still in bed. Enjoying a weekday morning without a commute.

She bounced on the balls of the feet, with excitement. She was graduating today. Three years after she decided to leave NCIS for a life, of peace. It felt like she was finally moving forward.

"It is lovely here," Schmeil said. Leaning heavily on his walking stick.

She nodded. They lived on one those streets, that seemed like it was out of one Tony's movies. There were older houses; colonials and few split levels neatly but not tightly packed onto a quiet little street. They were about a block away from a large park, with walking tracks which she often enjoyed.

"Yes," Ziva said. She let Schmeil set the pace, as they walked down the street.

It was still early, but they noticed a few runners out and about. People often parked on their street, in order to reach the park the next street over, as the cul de sac that backed onto the park, was not so kind to cars that did not belong there.

"And, the house is wonderful," Schmeil declared. "So big."

Schmeil's apartment in Jerusalem had been like a rabbits warren, with tight corners and those narrow stairs. His retirement apartment, in the hills was larger in order to be accessible for its elderly residents, but still small. When she and Tony had visited all those years ago, they had been on top of each other.

"It is big," Ziva replied.

Their house was smaller than their neighbours, as it did not have tacked an extension on the back, though a slightly bigger kitchen was high on Ziva's wishlist. The relaitor had called it cosy, when she first showed them the house. In its original state, there were walls either side of the stairs in the center hall colonial. The first thing, Tony and Ziva had done once they closed on the house, was organise for the inside walls to come down, opening the whole first floor up. That along with a lighter paint colour made the main floor, feel twice as big.

"Sometimes, it feels empty," Ziva admitted.

Though they had no intentions of keeping the house empty for long.

"I am sure you will fill it soon," Schmeil said,, with a smile. "A house like that should be filled with life."

His walk was more of a shuffle. Ziva was used to pounding these pavements. She took the extra time, to admire some of the other houses in the neighbourhood, noticing little details she had not seen before. The neighbourhood was so picturesque, like something from a postcard.

One of their neighbours had updated their exterior; painting it a soft grey, and adding columns to the porch. It looked lovely. So homely.

"We are trying," Ziva murmured.

Schmeil turned to look at her. A soft smile on his face, that turned into confusion.

"We have been trying for a while," Ziva admitted. "For a baby."

Good things come to those who wait, was that not the saying.

And, they were waiting. Desperately waiting and wanting. Wanting a little piece of her, and a little piece of him. Her nose over his mouth.

"Oh," Schmeil said softly.

Schmeil's world was an intellectual one. He had little time or energy for the domestic sphere. He had never married, nor had children, and his apartment had always been a mess. His head was always in the clouds.

"I did not think I would be one of those women who longed for a child," Ziva admitted. "It is like I am crazy."

It was an ache. It came and went, like the contractions she hoped to one day feel. These days it was more intense. It hurt.

"It is only natural," Schmeil declared. "To want to create something that will outlive us."

Yet, she knew that was not always the case. Children did not always outlive their parents. Both Kelly Gibbs, and Tali David had been outlived by their fathers. The only solace was that their mothers were already gone.

"Do you regret not having children?" she asked.

Perhaps with anyone else, the question might have been to direct, but Schmeil was used to such investigation from her. The two of them shared many secrets. They both knew too much about the horrors of the world.

Schmeil was quiet for a moment. Deep in contemplation.

"No," he said. His voice was strong. Definite. "I have created many things that will outlive me. I have no regrets."

His books. Words that would live for decades longer than him. Maybe even centuries, if they were deemed to be important.

"I do not think I would have ever done the things I have, if I had children," Schmeil elaborated. "Even though, when I was a younger man it would have been quite permissible for me to continue as I was, and leave these hypothetical children with their hypothetical mother. I would not have been able to leave my work for my family. I was fulfilled without children."

Could she be fulfilled without children?

Could Tony?

Once upon a time, in what felt different world, both she and Tony had been adamant that children were not for them. Now, they had built their whole life around these future children. Prioritising family life.

The Ziva of a decade ago, would be shocked by the Ziva of now. Mostly, because Ziva David was not supposed to meet her thirtieth birthday.

"A child, does not need be yours to warm your heart," Schmeil uttered.

She knew what Schmeil was trying to say. His life had been improved, by being part of Rivka David's daughters lives. He had loved them fiercely, enjoying tea parties and sharing books. Even now as only one reached adulthood, he loved them like a grandfather or Uncle might have.

She thought of Abby, who had proclaimed that she was not the mothering type, how she had proclaimed herself to be 'Aunt Abby' to little Tori. Spoiling the child, with a new gift every single time she saw the small creature. There was so much love there.

Then there was adoption. She had looked into adoption, wasting a winter afternoon jumping between websites. There were plenty of needy children, who had not had the best start in life. Who needed a happy home, endless patience, and lots of love.

Could she open her home to such a child?

Could she open her heart?

She and Breena had talked about it, once or twice. Breena and Jimmy, faced with an infertility diagnosis had pursued invasive treatments. Even as the odds were bleak.

 _I don't know where it would have ended_ , Breena had told her, as they walked through a park. Tori asleep in her stroller. Breena was desperate to try and shift the last little bit of baby weight. _I would have kept going until, I couldn't. I wanted to be pregnant. It was primal._

Ziva wanted to be pregnant. She wanted to struggle with maternity clothes. She wanted kicks to keep her up all night, and then to complain about them the next day. She wanted to watch Tony's face light up, as he held their child for the first time. A piece of him. A piece of her.

She wanted to feel the weight of a toddler on her lap. She wanted to sing The Wheels on the Bus, until her mouth hurt.

Did she have to be pregnant?

She wanted to be a mother. More than anything.

Would it be such a tragedy if her child did not grow inside of her?

"Do you think my mother would have preferred not to have children?" she asked.

Her voice felt small. Like she was a child all over again.

Schmeil took in a sharp intake of breath. He had been so close with Rivka, and had much of her confidences. He had known much more of than Ziva ever did.

"I only met her after she had you," Schmeil said diplomatically. "And, things were more complicated when she had children."

Ziva nodded. Knowing that things were different for her mother. Nearly two decades since the pill, it was still unheard of for a woman to have no children. Ziva had been after her Aunt lost a fiance in the Lebanon war. Her Aunt Nettie already over thirty, seemed unlikely to find love again. Ziva had not just been born for her parents, but for everyone around them. To populate the land, her father so fiercely believed in protecting.

Even in her conception Ziva was complicated.

Still, she could remember her mother trapped in domestication. Those quiet moments in the car, while they were waiting for the traffic light to change. Her mother with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, looking out into the distance. Two children jabbering in the backseat. The shrieks louder and louder, while her dreams got harder to reach for.

"She was very distressed once," Schmeil begun. His voice cracking as he recalled the memory. "When she thought she might have been pregnant again. You would have been eight or so. I suspect that was more about losing the independence that had come, with the two of you being older. She loved you, you must never doubt that."

Ziva swallowed thickly. She understood. The happiest memories of her mother, were once she was in school. Singing in the back of the car. Racing through traffic, because they were late. Again. In the oldest photographs Ziva had of her mother, there was almost always a sad look behind a plastered on smile.

"It cannot have been easy for her," Ziva muttered. "With my father it would have been like being a single mother, or like having an extra child when he was around."

Schmeil laughed.

Eli had been stubborn and a picky eater. Much like a small child.

"Yes, it is hard to imagine your father doing the school run," Schmeil said, with a smile. "Tony will be different sort of father, I am sure."

Ziva thought of Jimmy and Tori, when they had last seen them, at Passover. She thought of how he bounced little Tori on his knee and fed her little bits of food. She remembered the wistful look on Tony's face as he watched the whole scene.

That would be them one day.

"Yes," Ziva said. "We talk about it sometimes. He will be an amazing father."

Schmeil slowed again.

"Good," Schmeil said. "These are things you should talk about."

A silence lapsed. Both of them lost in heavy thoughts.

"I am trying not to let this wanting consume me," Ziva said softly. But, it was hard. Whenever she saw parents with young children, she felt that sting of jealousy. A pang. "There is so much else that is happening at the moment. So much to be grateful for."

Schmeil took her hand. His papery skin on top of hers.

"There is," he declared. "You have so much to be proud of."

They turned the block. The park was in view. She knew the path would be too rocky for Schmeil. His health was declining as age caught up with him.

"I am proud of you," Schmeil said, his slow walk almost stopping. "Especially, for what we are about to celebrate today."

She felt a lump in her throat. She was proud of herself too. Could she permit herself to be so proud?

"It is just community college," she declared, as she took his hand in hers. He felt so light. Fragile.

"It is not just anything," Schmeil whispered. They started moving with more speed again. "And, it is a year ahead of schedule. Is that not something?"

She had taken extra classes each semester, and summer classes to finish early. She was conscious of her age, and the plans Tony had for the future. Though, there had been moments of almost burnout, she was glad that her degree was over. She had no interest in being locked away in an ivory tower.

"Yes," she said. "I am excited to use everything I have learned."

Schmeil broke out into a smile.

"Are you enjoying the new job?" he asked.

The job had not started. It was set to begin in the second week of July. In the meantime, she had taken some extra shifts at the translation centre, where she had working at before. She was both for the extra money, and the distraction.

Still, her heart ached when women sat in front of her asking for help, with noisy toddlers or fussy babies on their knees.

"It starts soon," she said. "I am very excited."

The job at the ASRC, had been the third job she applied for. The second that she got an interview. The other job, had been with the government, but had a heavy workload. The ASRC job, was exciting. She would not only be using her translation skills, but helping new immigrants and asylum seekers improve their English. Her interviewer had warned her, that some of the stories would get under her skin, but she was not worried about that.

She had seen enough tragedy already.

"Of course," Schmeil said softly.

Quiet lapsed. Schmeil reached for her hand, not with tenderness, but with fear. He was milliseconds away from a fall.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

The old man seemed so much older. He had always been old to her, especially when they first met with fifty years already separating them. This was different, it was as if he had aged ten years since she had seen him last.

"It is the jetlag," Schemil said. "It effects me more, these days. It seems it has also affected my balance."

Ziva frowned. Schmeil had been such a jetsetter. Every few weeks, it had seemed that he was flying off to a conference in a faraway place. When she was a child Ziva used to look forward to the postcards Schmeil would send, even though they would almost always arrive after Schmeil had returned.

At least Schmeil sent the cards. When her father was away, it was just radio silence.

"I have not travelled so far in a while. Not since your wedding," he announced. "And, I had forgotten how horrible airline seats are."

Ziva blinked in surprise. She thought of the wedding, in a winery a few hours away from the city. All of their friends had been so happy, as they stood around them. It had been a weekend full of such joy. She had been so happy.

Her mind drifted to another early morning walk. Before the wedding, with Ziva's hair still in curlers. The walk had been exactly what she needed, a moment to reflect on those who would not be there, despite how much Ziva wanted them to be there. Both Ziva and Schmeil were convinced that Rivka David would have been an overbearing mother of the bride.

"That was a beautiful day," Schmeil whispered.

It felt so long ago.

Time flew. Was there no way to slow it down?

"I have been thinking about Ima often," Ziva said. Her voice cracking. "Especially, in these last few days. With everything that is happening."

She had thought of her mother, and that never started Masters degree. She had thought of the applications forms, found in her bedroom, in those hazy days after her death. Of Ziva and Tali, hiding under the sheets. The smell of her fading perfume. Of Aunt Nettie crying.

"Of course," Schmeil said. "I have been thinking of Rivka, very often these days too."

The thoughts of her mother, often drifted from memories her more recent preoccupation.

What would Rivka have been like as a grandmother?

Did Rivka really want to be a mother?

How she wished she could share these walks with her. To ask her these questions. Not make inferences on what could have been.

"And Tali," Ziva said. Her voice soft. "Even my father. They are never far from my thoughts."

Schmeil coughed. He and Eli had never seen eye-to-eye.

They turned the corner, arriving back on Ziva's street.

"I like to think Rivka and Tali, would be proud of you," Schmeil said, with a smile. "Especially, Rivka."

Ziva nodded. Feeling her lip quiver.

She had tried to talk to Tony about this. They had built their relationship on radical honesty. They talked about things that needed to be said, even when they hurt. He had given her the same platitudes, but it had not felt the same. Tony, could not have possibly known them. He had never known them.

Schmeil knew. He knew them. He could remember how much of a perfectionist Tali was, and the map of opera houses in her bedroom. Schmeil knew more about Rivka than Ziva ever did. He knew her darker thoughts, and secrets. Her favourite books, and her regrets.

Schmeil was her last connection to them. Her last link.

"I like to think that Eli would have found peace with your decision," Schmeil declared. His voice soft. "Eventually."

A part of Ziva, deep down knew that she would have never laid down her guns, if Eli was still alive. She gained so much freedom in his death. How bittersweet this freedom felt sometimes.

"It is okay to miss them," Schmeil said. "Especially, when there is so much to celebrate."

She knew this. Sometimes, it felt that this was all her life was. Constant memorization.

She was the last one left. Everyone else had been taken from her.

"But, we must find the joy," she whispered.

The deja vu of the conversation stung her, she and Schmeil often had this conversation. Promising not lose the joy, even when it seemed so hard.

"That we must," Schmeil said.

The reached, the blue house that was next door to casa David-DiNozzo. The house of the only neighbours Tony and Ziva really knew. Both of them worked at the local university, and were a whole continent away from family. They also had a little boy, who had been born about the same time Tony and Ziva moved next door.

In the front yard, the little boy was sitting in his stroller. Wriggling and banging his little chubby legs. His mother had her head in the car, fussing with the car seat. Ziva gave the little boy, an enthusiastic wave. Schmeil noticed the tiny creature, and offered him a little wave. The child started giggling.

For a moment she imagined Schmeil holding a little baby with her curls, and Tony's smile. The youngest person they knew, being held by the eldest. It was a scene full of love. Full of joy.

The longing rose up in her. She had never wanted anything more.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

It's hard to write about a character desperate for a child, when I was that ten year old who did not want to play with dolls, and said she'd never get married or have kids. I hope it didn't come off insensitive.

Also, the little bit about adoption was not meant to argue that adoption is a 'less than' way of making a family, but rather that there can be a period of grieving, when things don't happen as we expect. Especially, something as highly valued in our culture as making a family.

Thank you so much for the lovely reviews, and tweets. (I'm aliceisfunny on there). I hope you will enjoy the journey we're about to embark on.

I'm hoping you enjoyed the earlier than planned update. This chapter was actually supposed to have another 'Scene', but it got too long. Next update, will be in about 10 days, and probably a little shorter. I'll try not to leave y'all too long without updates.

I also promise that there will be some happy moments in this fic.


	3. It Comes Crashing Down

Tony paced up and down the waiting room of the ER at George Washington, wearing holes in his expensive and seldom wore dress shoes. He looked to Senior, as sat in the corner looking out into the distance. Slumped in the chair, that he whined about being given. _I'm not that old, Junior._

Tragedies and crisis unfolded all around them. Chest pains. Strokes. Bleeding. People were living their worst nightmare.

The automatic doors opened with a woosh. A man in chef outfit and with a bloodied hand walked through. His fingers looked like uncooked meat.

An occupational accident.

How many times, had Tony sat in an ER waiting room after one of those? Shootings. Explosions. How many times had it been him, wheeled in on the gurney? Car accidents and concussions.

"Junior, sit down," Senior barked. "The pacing is making me nervous."

But, he was nervous.

They had been an enjoying a post-graduation dinner, a surprise Tony had organised for Ziva. Her face had lit up, as they walked to restaurant, which was in an old federal townhouse in Georgetown. Senior and Schmeil brought the party size up to four, and created a lively conversation, most dominated by Ziva and Schmeil geeking about the restaurants historical features. It was a family dinner, for some of their family.

Later the conversation had buzzed with pride, with ony showing off pictures of Ziva as she walked across the stage in the graduation regalia. Schmeil making grand speeches about academia and how Ziva was going to change the world. He had sent the pictures off to the other members of their family of choice, and his phone buzzed with notifications. Even the technological illiterate Gibbs had managed to send a congratulations message. There was to be a graduation party held in the David-DiNozzo dream house, in the coming weeks, to celebrate with their wider family.

It had been such a happy day. So much joy. So much love.

Then a spell had come over Schmeil. He had paled, and seemed to be in pain. He had then trotted off to the bathroom. His age had shrunk his bladder, he had declared, telling Ziva he was fine. The old man was wobbly on his feet, perhaps due to the bottle of wine that he polished off mostly by himself. Then he had not returned. Not for five minutes. Not for ten. Eventually, Tony had been sent to check on Schmeil and found him in a bathroom stall. He was unconscious. Breathing shallow. Blood on his handkerchief.

Ziva had ridden with Schmeil in the ambulance. The old man had started to come to, but was confused. Tony and Senior had followed, in their car. Worry, already bubbling in Tony like a pot on the hob. The long, it was left on boil, the more the worry spilled over.

"I'm need some air," Senior declared, as he got up. Tony noticed how Senior held onto the wall by the chair as he stood. When had he gotten so old?

Tony looked toward the other set of automatic doors, which beckoned outwards. To a world outside of this ER.

How different that world seemed. Quiet, except for the wail of the sirens.

They had only been in the waiting room, with its plastic seats and antiseptic smell for a couple of hours, but it felt like a lifetime.

Senior walked toward the doors, with an urgency Tony did not usually see in his father. He was surprised, that it had taken this long for Senior to make a break for it. Neither of the DiNozzo men were fans of hospital. Hospitals were places of sadness. Where people came to die.

Catherine DiNozzo had taken her last laboured breaths in a hospital. While, her son watched a movie on the television in the corner, and her husband stood in the corridor completely at a loss as what to do next.

Senior and Catherine had made vows to each other. Promising forever. Forever was not supposed to end a decade later, with a sickly Catherine. This was not supposed to be his life.

"It's fine," Senior said, as they both walked through the doors. "You should stay for Ziva."

He felt pulled, wanting to be their for both Ziva and his Dad, but he knew if push came to shove, he would pick his wife. They'd made vows. They'd talked about it. It was them versus the world.

Two parents carrying a red-faced screaming baby rushed in through the same automatic door, wearing equally anguished expressions. There was so much sadness on this June evening.

"She'll text," Tony declared. "It'll probably be a while."

He had been to this hospital a few times, both when he dated a doctor under a fake name, and after suspect opened fired or an arrest went wrong. He knew it was one of the busiest hospitals in the area.

The moved to a bench surrounded by concrete walls. A weird architectural alcove that had been turned into a sitting place. There was a distinctive smell of cigarettes, and evidence of chain smoking. Tony kicked one of the butts with his shoe. The ash spilled all over the concrete.

"I can't stay here," Senior admitted. His leg bounced. Father was equally as nervous as son. They just displayed it differently.

An ambulance siren got louder as it moved closer to them. There was no chance of them forgetting where they were.

"What's the supposed to mean?" Tony asked.

The wind shifted slightly bringing a nasty smell with it. It smelt like burnt grease, and old rice. Tony's stomach churned.

"It means I can't be here," Senior replied, his voice soft. "Not for this."

"For what?" Tony asked. "It's Schmeil, he'll be walking out of here in a few hours, with a warning to drink less, and then he'll tell us a story."

It was Schmeil. He was going to outlive them all. He already outlived so many. He was infinite.

"No, he won't," Senior replied. "Did you not see him when they loaded him into the ambulance?"

Schmeil had been confused. Blood on his chin. His eyes looking far away. His shirt sleeve rolled up, revealing the faint string of numbers, that had once been tattooed on him. _A lifetime ago_ , Schmeil had told him once in Italy, as he rolled up his shirt sleeves to soak in the sun. _I do not let it define me_ , Schmeil had declared, even though he wrote about it extensively.

"He's dying, Junior," Senior said. His voice and face equally glum. "And, he knows it. I've seen that look in someones eyes before. I'm surprised you didn't see it, it's not like this is your first rodeo."

Tony had seen enough death, with his years on the beat. He had held young officers hands as they bled out. He had watched as they took thought last breaths far too early. There had been so much violence in those deaths. So much of life that was unspent.

"Your Mom had the same look," Senior said. Taking a gulp. "When we took her to the hospital, for the last time. That's when I knew."

Tony looked at his shoes. The ash from the cigarette butt had left a mark on his expensive dress shoes.

His memories of his mother, were almost always of hospitals. Hospitals and the occasional movie theatre. Dim lights. He always remembered his mother in shadows.

"This," Senior took another long breath. "It's bringing back too much. Schmeil and I, aren't even that close. He isn't going to be asking for me, when he takes his last breaths. I'm gonna go."

 _But, what about me?_ Cried eight year old Tony, when his father disappeared after his mother's funeral.

"Fine," Tony said. His voice harsh. Senior was right, this wasn't his first rodeo.

 _But, what about me?_ Cried ten year old Tony, when his Dad left him in a Maui hotel room. While he chased something, had been a business deal or a wife.

Senior brought up a ride share app on his phone. Tony watched stunned into silence.

 _But, what about me?_

"Tell Ziva I'm sorry," Senior said, as he rose up from the bench, and walked away toward the exit, slowly getting out of sight.

With that Senior left all over again.

Tony was eight all over again, being left behind because his Dad couldn't deal, with the cards life had dealt him. Couldn't deal with a dead wife and bereaved son. Couldn't deal with the hard stuff when it came.

And, the hard stuff always came. But, the storm would eventually pass, and the damage could be fixed, or you could learn to live with the remains of what was left.

His Dad had never been the good man in the storm.

Tony had learnt to be that for himself.

Still, he and his Dad had been doing so well. Weekly dinners. Talking about the past, but not getting caught in it.

Senior was trying to be a good father, forty years too late.

 _Junior, one day you'll understand this,_ Senior said as they drove toward the boarding school. Tony is eight and a half. The polyester blazer made his arm itchy. He looked ridiculous in the outfit. _I just need some time._

* * *

It was another forty minutes before his phone buzzed, a message from Ziva with just a room number. Tony took a deep breath in, and walked back through the first set of automatic doors, and then the second, with a woosh. Back into the belly of the beast. He had a not so good feeling in his gut.

Senior's morbid prediction echoed in his head. He hoped the old man was wrong.

He knew better than disturb the nurses, in order to get to the room. He made it through the ER to the elevator, and then to the quieter wards. White walled hallways punctuated by doors. The smell of disinfectant made his nose itch.

He hated hospitals.

Eventually, he found the room. Schmeil was tiny in the huge bed, tubes coming out of him. Ziva sat the vinyl coated chair. Makeup stains down her cheeks.

His stomach ache got worse. A sharp pain. Things did not look good.

There was stain, or what looked like blood on her dress. A new dress brough especially for her graduation. It was a wrap style, and had come undone slightly with all the moving around. Tony remembered the graduation regalia in the trunk of his car, that needed to be returned in the early morning.

Today, had taken such a dark turn.

"Hi," he whispered, as he took the seat next to her. It squelched.

For a second, he was back in another hospital room, Ziva in the bed this time, she was crying then too. The doctor telling them, that miscarriage was common. Even though, it felt like their world had been destroyed. Their surprise pregnancy, had become very wanted in those few short weeks, and all of a sudden it was all gone.

She looked up, bringing him back into the present. He could see her eyes red with already cried tears. Something was wrong. Very wrong. His gut ached.

"Hi," Ziva replied. Her lip quivered, and she looked over at Schmeil.

He was her Schmeil. Tony knew Ziva loved Schmeil more than anyone. Maybe, even more than she loved Tony.

"Where is your father?" Ziva asked. She looked toward the doorway, perhaps expecting Senior to be right behind him.

"He went home," Tony said, point blank. He was not going to tell her the whole story, not here. Not when there were bigger fish to fry. "Something came up."

Ziva looked at him with a confused look. She had only ever seen the best side of Senior. She was not used to be disappointed by him.

When he became, a father, and he was still optimistic that he would become a father. He would be much better father, than his Dad had ever been.

She looked down at her lap. Saying nothing with her mouth, but saying a lot to him. She was imploding. Hiding in herself, because outside was too scary. Too sad. There was too much pain.

"It'll be okay," he said reaching for her hand. He carefully squeezed it.

He needed to make this better. He always needed to make things better. That was why he had gone into law enforcement, wanting to make the world a better place by putting away the bad guys. Now, he no longer chased criminals, but he still wanted to make things better.

He needed to make this better for her. He had too.

"It is not, and it will not be," Ziva replied. Her voice neutral, like when she was reading a case report. "He is dying."

Tony felt a churn in his gut. Bile rose up his throat. It burned.

His Dad had been right.

Schmeil wasn't coming back from this.

"Like dying, dying?" Tony asked.

Schmeil always seemed to have some new injury or illness to announce. Yet, he always bounced back. Schmeil was in his mid-eighties, these things were to be expected. Lately, Schmeil who was only a few years older than Ducky, and a few more older than his father, seemed to have become so much older. Fragile. Delicate.

Tony looked to the bed. Schmeil was asleep. He looked peaceful. Probably hopped up on drugs.

Ziva had been so excited for Schmeil's visit. She had brought a new sheet set for the guest room, ordered all the way from Israel, because they were the best quality. Their fridge was filled with latkes, mini quiches, and bourekas, all of which Tony could not touch, because they were for Schmeil only. Ziva expected the older man to eat them out of house and home. Then there was the arak she had brought to join their rather empty drinks cart.

Now, he was counting the old man's breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Just keep breathing, he begged.

"Yes," Ziva said. Her voice cracking. "He has been sick for a while, but he did not tell me. He did not want to ruin things. He likely flew against doctors orders."

Tony nodded. Schmeil was stubborn when it came to the big things, especially as he aged. Tony knew, it had taken a while for Schmeil to move into the retirement village, and even longer for him to accept home help. He had been so attached to his independence.

There had been a time, where he had no independence. In a prison camp. A time where people tried to lead him to his death. Schmeil had escaped the death marches, and the disease that came after, but death always collected eventually. Nobody evaded death forever. Not even Schmeil.

"He fought the cancer at first, but the treatments were taking too much from him," Ziva continued, voice still neutral. Tony's heart sunk as he heard the word cancer. "He is refusing anymore treatment. He said he is ready to die."

 _I am ready to die_ , she had told him once in Saleem's dusty cell. His body still adjusting to the truth serum. His heart still overwhelmed that she was alive.

Tony gulped. There were too many memories tonight. His brain was walking through a dark alley, not sure of which ghosts would jump out from the shadowy doorways.

"The doctor says that Schmeil has three to four weeks at the most," Ziva said, looking up at him. Tony rubbed her knuckles. She had been alone, when the doctor had given such a grim prognosis "He wants to die in Israel. In his own home, with his books."

Schmeil wanted to die on his own terms. To die peacefully. The type of death that everyone wanted.

"I need to go with him," Ziva said. Looking down at her feet. She was wearing those black heels which only came out of her closet a handful of times a year. Today was supposed to have been a good day. A celebration. They were supposed to be having a second dinner around, their huge dining table, not sitting in a hospital room. "I cannot let him die alone. He has lost so much. He cannot be alone."

 _You are not alone_ , he had told her in clumsy Hebrew, when she gone back to Israel to bury another loved one. She had been to too many funerals. She was only just thirty and already an orphan, with a dead sister to boot. The world had been so cruel to her. Yet, still she bounced back. Still, she saw the good in the world.

She had lost so much already. Would losing Schmeil be too much for her to bear?

"Whatever you need," he whispered.

His wallet burned in his pocket. He thought of his schedule, there would be no way he could ditch work for a month, with such little notice. His new job was more flexible than the last, but not that flexible. Then there was her new job, set to start on the Monday after the July weekend. A date she had already marked on the calendar in the kitchen. It was a contract for six months, but there was an expectation on both sides, that it would be extended. She had been so excited, when she talked about the job. More excited than she had been in months.

"We'll make it work," saying it both to her, and himself.

He had to make this better for her. Somehow.

"He is dying," she repeated, even though neither of them needed reminding. "He has been a part of my life for so long, I cannot imagine life without him."

 _Couldn't live without you, I guess_ , he had told her. Again in Saleem's dusty cell. His heart beating too fast, and his chest aching. Maybe from the serum. Maybe from the surprise of seeing her.

He studied her. Her nose red, from crying and the scratchy tissues that the hospital put out for family members.

Dying, dying. Gone forever. The reality of that stung.

"I know," he replied, as he wrapped his arms around her. The arm of the cheap chair digging into him. She made a snuffling noise, and his shirt got a little wet.

Her Schmeil was dying, and there was no way for him to fix it.

He wasn't even sure, if he'd be able to hold her hand when she said her goodbyes.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Schmeil dying should not be too much of a spoiler, considering epilogue of 'Scenes'. Also, for those who remember the epilogue of 'Scenes', you will also know what else is about to happen. The next couple of chapters will deal with Tony hanging back stateside, before joining Ziva in Israel. There will be a chapter with father and son talking about things.

I promise there will be chapters, where Ziva is happy.

Thank you so much for all the reviews, faves, and tweets. I'm glad you are enjoying the story so far. I'll get to review replies soon.

I'm aiming for weekly or there about updates. Thanks for being so patient.


	4. Flying Solo

Tony's head buzzed, and he took a few careful blinks, noticing the effect of the beer he had been drinking since it got dark. The bar crowd was starting to change, moving from the sensible early evening crowd, to the rowdy younger crowd. Tony watched the bar from the terrace. Young men were leaning in front of younger women. Nervous flirting over loud music. Tony was familiar with this dance, it had been his Friday night for over twenty years. He cringed for the two people he was watching.

Had he really been that sleazy?

McGee appeared a few seconds later, with two beers, eliciting a smile from Tony.

"Did Ellie get off okay?" Tony asked, as McGee sat down.

It had been ten days since he had dropped Ziva off at the airfield. She had flown on a private plane with Schmeil and two flying nurses. He had held her tight, as time ticked on, getting closer and closer to when he would have to let her go. It had been fourteen days since Schmeil had collapsed during Ziva's graduation dinner, found slouched over a toilet. It would be another five days until he would fly out to Israel, to be with her. Six days until he would actually see her. He was organising for people to take over his training modules while he was away.

He was counting down the days, the hours, and the minutes.

"Yeah," McGee replied, as sat opposite his friends. A waft of distant cigarette smoke blew in with the wind, and Tony felt a tickle. A consequence of his brush with the plague over a decade ago had left some scars. "She'll text when she gets home."

Tony nodded. Over the last hour, their little group had broken up. They could not spend their Friday's partying like they used to. Age and responsibilities got into the way. Palmer had left first, needing to get home to Breena and Victoria. Abby, much to Tony's surprise had disappeared next, needing to get up early the next morning for her volunteer work. Abby's weekends were never lazy. She buzzed around, energised by life. The Mr not-so-new-guy-Nick had left not long after when it became clear that the nights conversation was heading down memory lane to cases long before he joined them. Ellie had been next, saying she had an early morning gym class.

McGee only stuck around, because Delilah was in Dubai. She had been offered another secondment there, but had declined this time. McGee had been adamant that, the turning down the secondment was not because he had asked. But, there was no denying the decision had been to do with Tim.

When had they all become so domesticated?

"You okay?" McGee asked, as silence had brewed between the two men for a moment too long.

"Yeah," Tony replied, taking a long swill of beer. "Though watching what's going on in there, makes me glad I'm not single."

McGee let out a cough-laugh.

"Yeah," McGee echoed. "It's even worse from inside. The guy was using every pick up line in the book."

Tony nodded. A cool breeze blew through, sobering him up just a little. It was getting late. They wouldn't hang around for much longer. They were too old for this.

"When does Delilah get back?" Tony asked. Delilah had been gone for almost as long as Ziva.

Maybe, it was a good thing McGee and Tony no longer worked together, Tony thought. They'd have given Gibbs a run for his money in terms of grumpiness.

"Flight gets in midday tomorrow," McGee replied. "She's taking a few extra days. We're going to go away, after we have lunch with her Mom."

Delilah's mother Judy had slipped into their crew, like his Dad. She had moved to close, but not too close, settling in Silver Spring from just outside Pittsburgh, after taking a voluntary redundancy from her job. She had relished in downsizing and taking a job with less responsibility. Delilah getting injured has prompted a new closeness between mother and daughter. Some beauty had come from such ugliness.

McGee was still getting used to the idea of having a relative hover around so often, especially since his sister had moved out for grad school. Luckily, McGee and Judy got on well. McGee particularly enjoyed her stories from her early days as a computer engineer in the seventies. Unluckily, Senior and Judy also got on well. When they had been introduced the previous Christmas. Tony and McGee had found themselves sharing identical equally horrified expressions, as Tony's Dad put the moves on McGee's almost mother-in-law Judy. Thankfully, nothing further had developed between Senior and Judy.

"So, you gonna propose?" he asked.

McGee's face blushed red. Like he had been caught-in-the-act.

"Have you been talking to Judy too?" Tim asked. "Since, Delilah turned down the secondment, every time I see her, she looks at me with this look. Like I'm gonna ask Judy's permission or something."

It was the natural order of things. First came love. Then came marriage …

"Are you?" Tony pestered.

McGee had always seemed so much more into the whole marriage and forever thing, than Tony had. Why was he dragging his feet?

"No," McGee said quickly. Too quickly. "I'm not gonna ask Linda for permission to marry her daughter, but I do want to ask Dee to marry me, eventually."

Tony's gentle prodding, was nothing compared to the thoughts raging through his head.

"How long has that ring been in your sock drawer?" Tony asked. A smile dawned over his face.

"Sock basket," McGee corrected.

Tony blinked in confusion.

"Delilah gets all the drawers, and I keep my socks in a basket on the top shelf of the closet," McGee elebrorated. "She can't exactly reach up there. There's no chance of her finding it."

Tony nodded. He remembered the tight pre-war apartment he and Ziva had shared, before their slice of suburbia. Closet space had been non-existent. Arguments over tidiness had all but disappeared since they'd moved into the house, and he could take over the guest room closet with old suits that he hung onto, even though they no longer fit.

"So McGroom, when are you gonna get down on one knee?" Tony asked.

McGee shifted in his seat.

"I dunno," he finally said. Tony smiled at his younger friend. "It's not like I don't know the answer. I mean it's the twenty first century, when I propose it's not gonna be a surprise. We've talked about it. We're pretty much on the same page about what we want for our future."

He and Ziva had talked about marriage, before he proposed too, both on the same page. They wanted to take on the world together. To be extraordinary together.

"You've got your five year plan," Tony added.

First comes love, then comes marriage, and then comes the baby carriage. Tony knew the steps well, but the moments between the step was where all the mess was made. It was also where the joy and the pain came from. Luckily, the joy far outweighed the pain.

"Something like that," McGee murmured. "I just want it to be special. Delilah deserves one of those proposals which she tells all her friends about. I want it to be a proposal, where her eyes lit up when she tells the story. It needs to be perfect."

Tony looked down into his beer. He recognised all those worries. It felt so recent, even though he had proposed nearly two years ago.

"Perfection is overrated," Tony spurted. An old cliche, which came from a place of truth.

He couldn't blame his friend for wanting it to be special.

"Did I ever tell you, how I proposed to Ziva?" he asked.

"You proposed when you guys were in Italy," McGee said. "Ziva said it happened in your hotel."

"What we stayed in, was not an hotel room," Tony clarified, as he remembered the tight quarters. "It was a shoebox, and don't get my started on the ensuite. I couldn't stretch both my arms out at the same time."

McGee smirked.

"And, I didn't plan for it to happen in the hotel," Tony said, as the memories came back. They were fond memories. He felt warm, not just because of the alochol.

"What do you mean?" McGee asked, taking a small sip of beer.

"I had planned it on our first anniversary in May, I had a reservation at 1789," Tony started, watching as McGee grimaced as Tony dropped the name of a famous restaurant in D.C, where they ended up going for Ziva's graduation dinner. He was glad, the proposal had never happened there, it would not have been romantic enough.

"Then Gibbs' Dad died, so we were in Stillwater, so obviously that vetoed that plan. Ziva still wanted to celebrate, so we booked another dinner at Totinos, on the terrace. I had the ring in my pocket. I had planned a sort of speech telling her how much I loved her, and that I wanted to build a life with her. It was just us and one other couple. I was literally about to take the ring out, when the guy at the other table gets down on one knee."

McGee let out a beer-induced cackle.

"The guy was just a kid, probably not even old enough to drink," Tony ranted. "I'm sure they just did it to get free dessert."

"I'm pretty sure people don't really do that," McGee replied. "Besides, what does it matter you proposed in Italy. Surely that was better."

"I didn't mean to propose that night," Tony admitted, continuing with his story. "I mean I told myself I was gonna propose in Italy, but I had planned it for when it was just me and Ziva. We were ditching Senior and Schmeil when we got to Venice. I thought I could do it on one of those gondola rides."

"You probably would have fallen out," McGee replied. "Or at least lost the ring. There's a video of that happening."

Tony remembered seeing that a few months ago, and showing Ziva. Both of them laughing extra hard when they remembered that he had considered proposing on a gondola.

"I know that now," Tony replied. "Ziva told me that when I told her."

Ziva was the more wise of the two of them. That's why they made such a good team.

"So, how come it happened there then?" McGee asked. Their drinks nearly forgotten. "In the hotel room."

"Well, Ziva found the ring," Tony replied, his voice getting soft. "Which, I should have expected, I can't keep anything from her."

McGee let out a laugh. Tony joined him for just a second.

"She knocked over my suitcase, and it fell out of my shoe where it was hiding," Tony said. Smiling at the memory. "I told you that room was so small. She made a noise, so I ran out of bathroom. She was sitting there on the bed half-dressed, and holding the ring box. She offered to let me hide it, and act surprised when it came out again, but I decided to do it then and there."

Tony took a sip of beer. The bottle was nearly empty. He found himself not wanting another.

"The cat was out of the bag. I said everything that I was gonna say to her, with this towel around my waist," Tony continued. "It didn't matter, where I did it. Just that I did it."

The speech echoing in his head. Ziva's face as he said those words.

"What did you tell her?" McGee asked.

Tony took a deep breath. He could remember almost every word.

"I told her, how being with her made me a better person," Tony said. His voice cracking. A gooey feeling filled him. "I told her I wanted forever with her, and that all the things that seemed so scary with everyone else, didn't seem so scary with her. And, well you know what happened next."

McGee had been one of their four friends to hold up the Chuppah. He had been smiling like an idiot when Tony and Ziva said their vows. Watching them as they promised forever. McGee had looked over to Delilah with a smile on his face.

Till death do them part.

"You know when Ziva tells it, her whole face lights up," McGee said. "She does that thing where her eyes get glassy, but she's happy."

Tony knew the look. It came out more, now that she let herself feel everything. Now, that she was sure that her emotions would not be taken away from her.

"Yeah," Tony said. Smiling for a second. He thought of how Ziva's face was lit up by the shine of the ring. "You know the ring was my mothers. I always thought my Dad had sold it or given it to one of the other Mrs DiNozzo's, but he hadn't,"

Tony's mouth dried up as he mentioned his Dad. Things were hard at the moment.

"That's cool," McGee declared. "I just bought Dee's ring online. I wish I could have brought a ring with some history like that."

"Ziva likes that it has a story and a history," Tony murmured. "Just like we do."

When they first got engaged, people always asked to look at the ring. They always asked if the vintage looking ring had a story.

McGee took a long swill of beer. Finishing it. He blew on the bottle. McGee's phone buzzed, a text from Ellie saying she was home safe, and showing her with a paper bag from a local burger joint. He showed Tony the picture. Both men smirked. Neither were surprised. Ellie was so obsessed with food.

"Are you glad you and Ziva got married?" McGee asked, after a few moments of quiet.

He had wondered this too. If marriage would even make a difference. He and Ziva already lived together. Ziva would not depend on him for income. Nor did either of them view marriage as an ownership transaction.

Still, they wanted it. He wanted to call her, his wife.

 _This is Ziva, my wife_.

"Best thing I ever did," Tony said, as he finished his beer. "Without a doubt."

His phone buzzed, the bus that took him from metro stop to about a block from his house had finished running. He hadn't meant to stay out this late. He mentally calculated a cab fare from the station, and groaned. Tony was hardly a struggling junior agent, but he and Ziva had a big mortgage, and their credit card had taken a beating with the unexpected trip to Israel. Ziva, had refused to let a dying Schmeil pay for her airfare.

He pulled up a ride sharing app anyway. His wallet burned in his pocket, it had been an expensive few weeks.

"Does it even feel different?" McGee asked.

"You know what," Tony said, as he slid his phone into his pocket. "It kinda does. It's not like it is in the movies. It's like coming home to someone. Maybe, some people don't need the piece of paper, but it turns out Ziva and I are kinda traditional. It means something to us."

Love is patient. Love is kind.

"Abby and I talked about marriage once," McGee started. Tumbling down memory lane. "You know, when we were together."

Tony frowned. Abby and McGee's brief relationship had been over a decade ago, before Ziva was even in their lives. Ellie had not even believed Tony, when he had told her that Abby and McGee used to knock boots.

"That was ages ago," Tony said. "You were a baby. What were twenty-one?"

"I was young," McGee said, "But, Abby was always so anti-marriage. I told myself that I could live with that, and that being with someone is all that matters. All you need is love, and all that. But, now being with Delilah I want to marry her. Guess, I'm a traditionalist without the gender role issues.'

"That makes two of us," Tony declared. "A pair of twenty-first century traditionalists, who know their way around a kitchen."

He loved coming home to Ziva. He loved watching her forge her own path after NCIS. He loved the little house they were renovating. He loved cooking together in their bigger new kitchen.

"You know what comes after marriage," McGee murmured, before letting out a burp. Beer made him gassy.

"Ziva and I, are working on that," Tony said wistfully, picking at the label on the bottle.

McGees mouth hung over for a second.

"Did you and Delilah talk about kids?" Tony asked.

"Yeah," McGee said. "If it happens it happens, but considering Dee's injury and our jobs. We don't mind if it doesn't happen."

McAunt and McUncle had a nice ring to it.

"Neither of us are desperate for kids," McGee continued. "There's lots of ways to be part of children's lives, if you want too."

Tony and Ziva were desperate. Perhaps they wanted to make up for their own childhoods.

He was desperate for toddler hands, and that high pitched squeal that kids were famous for. Little baby curls.

"So, you and Ziva are trying?" McGee asked.

Trying sounded so blase. They were working for this baby.

"Yeah," Tony said, "Technically, since the wedding."

He could hear McGee doing the math. Nine months. There should be a baby, by now. If everything had gone to plan.

"It'll happen soon enough," Tony said quickly. Realising he had shared too much. "Don't tell anyone, we want to keep it private for now."

Especially, when there was nothing to tell.

"Secrets safe," McGee declared. His voice sure.

"Though being on different continents, isn't really helping," Tony muttered. "Probably, won't be this month."

It had been a long ten days.

"You doing okay?" McGee asked.

"What do you mean?" Tony replied.

"Ziva's been gone like a week, right?" McGee replied. Ten days, Tony mentally corrected, but did not say anything. He had felt every day of those ten. "You guys haven't really been apart, not since you started at FLETC."

Tony looked down at the table. Was it that obvious? When had become so soft?

"I miss her," Tony said. "It's weird not coming home to her. It's not like I'm one of these guys who needs a wife to function. I can iron my own shirts and cook my own dinner. I even mowed the lawn twice. But, I really miss coming home and talking to her."

He mowed the lawn because he needed something to do. He had tried to invite his Dad over, but Senior said something came up. They had not really talked, not properly, since Senior rushed out of the hospital like a bat out of hell. Senior had also missed his usual Friday night dinner the previous week.

"We're texting, and we talk everyday," Tony said. Feeling himself getting worked up. "But, it's hard. It's hard for her to be back in Israel. It's hard for her to watch Schmeil fade away, and he's fading fast. He's her Schmeil, and he's dying. Whenever, she calls, he is just getting worse, and he is only going to get worse."

Soon Schmeil, would be gone.

"Yeah," McGee said, sucking in a big gulp of breath. "Me and Dee always find staying in touch hard. It's not the same on the phone. I was glad when she turned down the secondment this time, I don't know if we would have managed it."

The creepy guy, was still talking to the pretty tipsy girl. Oh to be young. Oh to be single.

"I feel so far away," Tony said softly. "And, even when I join her next week, I don't know how I'll be able to help."

He would be an extra, careful not to bump into the furniture. An interloper, mixing with Ziva, Schmeil and their ghosts. The two of them had so many ghosts.

"Just being there will help," McGee replied. His voice warm and all-knowing. "Trust me."

A memory dinged in Tony's head, it had not been so long since the Admiral died. Since McGee had watched his Dad die. Trying to reconcile their complicated relationship, before he no longer had the chance. Delilah had been on her secondment then, in faraway Dubai. Tony wondered how on earth the two of them survived the distance. Both physical and emotional.

"Yeah," Tony said. His voice softening out. "I hope so."

His phone buzzed again. A delay on the metro. Why had he and Ziva moved so damn far away? The system they had of only one of them drinking when they went out, only worked if they were both there.

She was so faraway.

He was so far away from her.

"I think we should call it a night," McGee said, as he got up. Moving toward the bathroom. "I've gotta get up early tomorrow."

"Yeah," Tony said. "Me too. I think there's a train in twenty minutes."

He didn't have to get up early, but he wasn't going to stay in the bar alone. He also had to work out how to get home. If he left it any later, he ran the risk of falling asleep at a metro stop.

"You gonna be okay to get home," McGee asked from the doorway. "You guys are so far away."

That was the comment they always got, when they told people where they lived. It was so far away from their cosy old apartment that was actually in DC. It felt even further away when he was driving to work and traffic was bad. FLETC might as well be the moon.

There had been a property boom among the chosen family. All of them had settled near enough to Gibbs' craftsman cottage. Tony and Ziva had their eyes on Alexandria propper, but even with the healthy deposit provided by the money Eli had left her were priced out. In the end they had brought their dream house, just a little further away. A twenty minute drive from Gibbs' house, and close to the last stop on the blue line.

Abby, The McCouple, and the Palmer's had been less attached to having a backyard, and seperate walls. Abby was still looking for her bachelorette pad, having put a few offers in that had not been successful. The Palmers had brought a newish townhouse with a drive under garage. The McCouple had brought an accessible condo, which was minutes away from a metro stop on the same line Tony needed. The McApartment was walking distance from Tony's old apartment, his Dad's current apartment.

Tony looked at the app on his phone. The delay was at one of the later stops on the metro, long after McGee would be home and tucked into bed. Tony could get off at McGee's stop and take a bus, but he would still have to walk thirty minutes in pitch black. He could old his own, if he ran into trouble in leafy suburbia, but his feet ached.

"Yeah," Tony said. "Just need to make a call."

His finger hovered over his Dad's number. He pressed call.

Senior picked up after a few unbearable rings.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Thanks for all of the love. I know things are a bit bleak for Ziva at the moment, but there will be happiness in some coming chapters.

I just love, having McGee and Tony gush over their relationships and being domestic.

I know I've previously mentioned them living in Maryland, and that Alexandria is in Virginia, but I don't live in the US, so I didn't quite understand where it would be realistic for them to live. A huge thanks to Misspatchesmom who helped me work it all out.

Next chapter will have Tony and Senior talk it out. The chapter after that, will have Tony and Ziva reunite.


	5. Building Bridges

When he woke, it took a few seconds for Tony to register where he was. He had a slight headache. A consequence of the last beer, swilled as he and McGee waited for Senior to picked them up. Senior had picked them up, with slippers on his feet, and driven them through a burger drive-thru as they crossed into Virginia. Tony had offered to get the metro, and walk to Senior's apartment, but Senior refused. Insisting he pick Tony and Tim up.

Tony groaned as he sat up on the couch. He reached across for his phone, which he did not remember putting on charge. He pulled it from the charger. A text from McGee thanking Senior for picking them up. That extra beer would have made the train ride interesting, McGee had sent. A picture from Ellie, her huge breakfast. Then the earliest text from Ziva, which made sense with the time difference. She wished him a good morning, and said she would call in an hour wanting to video call. Needing to see his face. Missing him.

Tony replied quickly, and wondered if he could make it home in time for her call. He pressed his feet into the soft rug, and looked around the apartment. It looked almost identical to when he had lived there. Father and son had similar decorating tastes. The apartment no longer felt like home to Tony.

Had it ever.

"Morning," Senior said. The older DiNozzo appeared in the doorway between living room and dining room. Senior was wearing an apron. He looked so domestic. "Coffees on."

Tony nodded. Coffee sounded good.

He walked a familiar route through his old apartment. He stopped in the bathroom, a caught sight of him. His hair was a mess, standing up, like a porcuswine as his wife might say. He could almost hear her say it. He also wore a mask of tiredness. Dark circles. Maybe, he should try to turn the video call, into a voice call.

He couldn't do nights out like he used to. He was getting too old. Too boring.

Then he walked back through the apartment toward the kitchen. Pulling yesterday's t-shirt over his head, and his jeans over his boxers.

Senior was standing over the stove cooking. Bacon sizzled. Toast popped up from the toaster. Eggs were in the the pan. It looked so domestic. He was pretty sure, he could not remember his Dad cooking. Not when he was a kid. This domestication was new. It was good.

"Hangover food," Senior declared, as Tony stepped through the threshold. Feeling the shock of the cool tile on his feet. "Do you need the DiNozzo defibrillator?"

It had been years since Tony, had needed the DiNozzo defibrillator.

"It was just one beer too many," Tony said softly. He watched as his Dad cooked. He sipped on the coffee, that had been poured for him. "I'll be fine."

The smell of the bacon wafted through the apartment. He was definitely hungry.

"Thanks Dad," Tony started.

"It's just bacon and eggs," Senior replied.

"No, Dad, thanks for picking me up," Tony said. "And, for letting me crash. I know it was super last minute."

Senior pivoted, and deposited the food on the plates.

"Well, technically it's your apartment," Senior muttered. "You can crash whenever you like."

Tony frowned. DiNozzo's hated being seen as in need of charity. His great grandfather had not come from Italy, so his descendants could have little to show for their hold work. Then again Anthony DiNozzo Senior had always eschewed hard work. Always trying to cut corners.

"You know, I don't think about it like that," Tony replied. "This is your home, Dad."

Tony picked up the plates, and they moved toward the dining room. Senior followed with the cutlery.

"And, you're my landlord," Senior said from behind. There was a sadness in his voice. He had never expected this to be his life.

They took their seats facing each other. The sun streamed in through the windows. It was going to be a nice day.

"Technically, Ziva is," Tony replied softly. Trying to lighten the mood.

Ziva handled everything to do with the apartment. She monitored for the rent cheques. When they were still paying the mortgage, Ziva had managed that. They had decided to clear what was rest of the small mortgage on the apartment with some of Eli's estate, before they brought the house. Wanting to look better to mortgage lenders with their single income. They had never mentioned they paid mortgage to Senior. Tony was still waiting for the penny to drop, and Senior to screw him over.

"You know what I mean," Senior muttered.

Father and son dug into their breakfast greedily. Bacon grease dripped onto Tony's t-shirt. Senior sipped coffee. Tony flicked through social media on his phone. Abby had shared a picture of cute dog she had seen. Tori was wearing an all pink outfit, with a little sunhat, and sitting in Breena's lap. Ellie had shared more pictures of her brunch; avocado, poached eggs, and rye bread.

"Thank you," Senior said again. "I know you two could be making big bucks off this place."

Another apartment in the building was for rent, going for more than Ziva had earnt at her part-time job, while she had been studying. His Dad was paying a very subsidized rent.

"Not everyone is so comfortable living in a murder house," Tony replied.

The triple homicide was the only reason Tony had been able to afford the place, brought in his first year at NCIS. It had been months after Wendy left him at the altar. He had wanted both a bachelor pad, and something that could not be taken away.

"Maybe not," Senior muttered. "Still, thank you for letting me stay here."

Tony dipped the toast in the yolk of the egg. Marveling as the crusty bread softened.

"Missed ya last week," Tony muttered.

Senior took a sip of his coffee.

"Kinda got used to our Friday dinners," Tony continued.

Friday dinners that ran late into the evening. A table meant for eight, seating three. Plates and plates of food. Joy. Laughter. A smile to end the week. Ziva's face if she lit the candles, a connection to something bigger. Something that would outlive them all.

"Didn't think we'd be doing that," Senior muttered.

Tony put his knife and fork together. The food from his plate, all gone. He had been ravenous.

"I know, I'm not as good a cook as Ziva," Tony begun. "But, we could have made it work."

Senior looked up at him.

"You still wanted to have dinner?" Senior asked. He looked up. His mouth open, aghast.

"You come over every Friday," Tony said.

Tony had sat alone in the house. Playing a movie on extra loud surround sound because the quiet was eerie.

Just when he had gotten good at being alone, he had built his life back up again so it was anything but.

"I just didn't think, you'd want to see me," Senior replied. "After what happened in the hospital."

Tony frowned. Looking down at the plate.

He remembered watching as Senior walked away from the hospital. Feeling like he did as an eight year old, being dropped off at boarding school. So many old feelings had been resurfaced.

"You were right," Tony said. His voice heavy. "Schmeil isn't going to bounce back from this."

Schmeil was dying. A true light in the world was being extinguished.

"I wanted to be wrong," Senior replied. "I really did."

Senior looked out to the window. To the distance.

"I wanted you to be wrong too," Tony replied.

Senior frowned.

"It comes for all of us," Senior muttered.

"Death and taxes," Tony said. Speaking the old cliche. "Isn't that what they say?"

"Taxes aren't as guaranteed as death," Senior deadpanned.

Tony felt a laugh rise through him. Senior smiled for just a second. They needed some levity.

"I saw the look on your face," Senior started. His expression somber all over again. "When I left, you looked so hurt."

Tony swallowed thickly. He thought he had hidden it better. He thought after forty years, that he had gotten over it. He was an adult now. He should be over it.

"There was a lot going on that day," Tony started. "I was tired."

Tired. Stressed. Angry. Sad. He was an alphabet soup of emotion.

"It was more than that," Senior replied. "I hadn't seen that look since you were a kid."

Tony looked away. This conversation was getting to hard. Too hard. The DiNozzo's did not talk about heavy things.

"I guess being in the hospital brought up a lot of memories," Tony muttered. "For both of us."

Senior nodded. Accepting the olive branch, Tony was offering.

"I understand why you left," Tony said softly. Giving his Dad some grace. "You remember Mom being sick more than I do."

For him the memories were blurry. Hospital rooms. Nurses speaking in hushed tones. His Mom getting thinner and hallow. Sometimes, he doubted the validity of the memories. Were his memories just things he saw on TV? Was it all a mishmash of scenes.

"I wasn't there, then," Senior said. His drifting out to sea. "I should have been."

Tony remembered the nurses, who came to the house, smelling like disinfectant. He remembered his mother hacking in the upstairs room. Blood on her pillow case. Her hair brittle.

He could not remember his Dad being there. Even if he had been there, he wouldn't have been sober.

"You did your best," Tony said offering the olive branch.

He could not bear to see his Dad stewing in regret forty years later.

"I didn't," Senior admitted. "Not by Catherine, and not by you."

Tony nodded.

"It is what it is," he said. He sounded like his wife. She had rubbed off on him.

God, he missed her. Israel was so far away. He was so far away from her.

"It wasn't just the memories that got me," Senior said. Sucking deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale.

"What do you mean?" Tony asked.

"Schmeil's only a few years older than I am," Senior started.

Tony felt bile in his throat. Even as they both moved up in years, he had never imagined his Dad as old.

He had never his Dad as dead. His Dad would be swindling and dodgy dealing for ever.

"I'm getting to an age where more of my friends are dead than alive," Senior muttered. "Hearing that an old buddy from Korea died, isn't so much of shock anymore."

Tony nodded. Thanks in part to social media, he too was starting to learn the fate of people he'd gone to college with or worked with during his early careers. Heart attacks. Strokes. The occasional suicide. Obituaries were replacing wedding pictures on his Facebook feed.

"Are you okay?" Tony asked. "Like health wise."

He calculated his Dad's age, comparing it to Schmeil's, and then to Ducky's. They knew so many old men.

How many funerals would he be going to in the next few years?

"Yeah," Senior said touching the table. "Touch wood."

There had been health scares for both father and son, during their period of estrangement. For Tony it was his brush with the plague, half a dozen concussions, and a few stray bullets. For Senior there was a small heart attack, an enlarged prostate, and a broken leg which took nearly a year to heal.

"You'd let me know," Tony started. His mouth dry. Not sure if he could say what he was thinking. So much between them was unsaid. "If you weren't okay, right?"

Senior blinked quickly. Then licked his lips. Wanting to stay something, but not saying anything.

"I would," Senior said softly. "If it was serious."

"Even if it's not," Tony said. "You can tell me."

Senior nodded.

"I know we weren't good at talking about stuff in the past," Tony continued. "I want us to be better."

"We're getting better," Senior said softly. "We'll get better."

"If you can't tell me," Tony said. Not really hearing his Dad. "You can tell Ziva, and she'll tell me."

Senior laughed. Ziva was the go-between for father and son. A third in a relationship that should be two. Ziva kept the two in communication, managed the apartment, and also made sure Senior was fed. Senior's fridge was always filled with tupperware filled with Ziva's leftovers.

"I will," Senior uttered. "But, I promise I've got a while before the closing credits."

Tony nodded, appreciating the movie reference.

"Good," Tony said. "Because, I need some time before I deal with the Six Wives of Anthony DiNozzo."

Senior raised his eyebrow at the obscure movie reference. Tony didn't usually do straight-to-DVD releases

"I'm sorry, I wasn't there for you," Senior said after a few moments of quiet.

"I'm kinda used to it by now," Tony said too quickly.

He watched as his Dad's face fell. A tight breath. Tony's words had stung.

"Fair enough," Senior said softly. He looked toward the kitchen. "I want to be there for you, like I should be been."

Like he should have been when Tony was eight. The triangle of the DiNozzo family was missing a side, and the tiny joint connecting father and son was weak. Neither father or son were able to bridge the gap.

"You're trying, I'm trying," Tony said softly. "We're trying."

Some things could not be forced. They were working hard to be better, all the same.

"Thank you for letting me try," Senior said. "You're a good man."

Tony sucked in a deep breath. His heart soared.

"I try," Tony whispered.

"I don't know, if you and Ziva want children," Senior started, his voice cracking. "But, if it happens, you'll be a good father. Much better than I ever was."

Tony nodded. He hoped so.

"We do," Tony said. "We're working on it, and I'll try my best."

Senior's eyes lit up. Would grandchildren be his redemption?

"People always want their children to have better than them, to be better than them," Senior started. "And you are."

Senior pushed no harder on the trying, Tony had alluded to. Senior had been there last time, when the fluke of pregnancy they had fallen in love with, ended too early. Senior knew to leave Tony and Ziva alone, when it came to growing their family To respect their privacy. He was not the pushy wannabe grandparent, who ashe when he was going to be a grandfather.

Still, there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Maybe one day.

"You've been thinking a lot, haven't you?" Tony asked.

"Yeah," Senior said with a bit of liveliness back in his voice. "A lot of my friends are dead, so I've got a lot of time on my hands."

Senior's international trips has also declined. The invitations had simply stopped coming. Senior was getting too old to weasel free flights out of the Saudi royal family. Tony was no longer picking up his father's tabs.

"So, do I," Tony muttered. "At the moment."

The house was too big for two people, and much too big for one. Tony hated coming home to an empty house.

"Do you miss her?" Senior asked.

"Yeah," Tony said. "This is the longest we've been apart for a long time. Even before we were together, we spent a lot of time together."

Eight years of partnership. Seeing each other almost every day. Except for those two summers. The first, where he agent afloat, and she was back in Tel Aviv. The second where they all thought she was dead. Gone forever. During both summers he was miserable.

"Your flights next week, right?" Senior asked.

"Wednesday," Tony said. "Stopping in Boston. It gets into Tel Aviv Thursday night."

It would five days until he saw her again. Over two weeks since he had seen her last.

"Need a ride to the airport?" Senior asked.

"I was just gonna do long-term parking," Tony said.

"I'll drop you," Senior insisted. The older man got up, and picked up the plates moving toward the kitchen. "I'll drop you home later, too."

Tony was glad for the offer. He really didn't want to ride the metro in yesterday's clothes, or walk in the June humidity.

"I'm really worried," Tony said as he too got up and followed his father to the kitchen. Senior had opened the dishwasher, and was loading plates into it. "About going to Israel."

Senior stopped what he was doing and looked up. Giving his son, all of his attention. Tony could not remember the last time he had done this.

Had he ever?

"Because of Schmeil?" Senior asked.

"A little," Tony admitted. "I haven't really been around someone who is dying like that, not as an adult."

His Uncles on both sides of the family had dropped off one-by-one in the last two decades, but he had not been there for the final moments. He had not even attended every funeral. He had become so distant, especially when the occasional Thanksgiving invitations dropped off completely.

The DiNozzo extended family, had become estranged. His cousins were all older than him by at least decade, had all had moved far away, had kids quite young and been absorbed into Thanksgivings and Christmases held by in-laws.

He had found himself making a chosen family, and trying to build bridges with his Dad.

"It's not just that," Tony said. "It's Ziva. I just don't know how to be there for her."

He was her Schmeil. The last one left. The only other person who could reminisce with her, and remember them too. Soon he would be gone.

Another ghost. Another character for her stories.

"Just being there is a start," Senior replied softly. "Having someone to hold her hand."

 _I cannot let him do this alone,_ Ziva had said, as they watched over a sleeping Schmeil. He had been so small in that bed. So old. So fragile.

Death was standing in the doorway, ready to pounce.

"He's her Schmeil," Tony said, leaning onto the kitchen island. The weight of what he was talking about, had made him unsteady on his feet. "I don't know what she's gonna do without him."

Senior stood still. Frozen.

"They are close," Senior started.

Schmeil was the person who knew Ziva better than anyone. Perhaps even better than Tony knew her.

"It's more than that," Tony said quickly. "He knew them too. He can share memories. I can just listen when she tells stories."

Senior swallowed thickly. Was that not all they had left, stories?

"I just don't know, how I can support her," Tony admitted. "I know her, she'll be focusing on him at the moment. Making sure he's comfortable. Making sure he's sorted everything before he goes. Then when he goes, it'll hit her. It'll hit her hard."

Senior moved out from behind the dishwasher, and closer to Tony. They stood close. Tony caught a whiff of his father's cologne. It hadn't changed in thirty years. That was Senior. Sticking to classics. Never really changing.

"She's lost so much," Tony said softly.

Her Mom. Her sister. Her father. So many friends. Too many friends.

"It's a lot of weight, to be someone's whole family," Senior admitted.

Is that what scared Senior away from his son. When he had become all the family someone had.

"I'm gonna miss him," Tony admitted. "I'd gotten used to him calling her so damn early. It was always so early. He never learnt the time difference. Ziva never complained. Her whole face would light up, when she saw who was calling. I really think she is gonna miss those calls."

Tony was gonna miss those calls. He always swooped in toward the end, and spoke with Schmeil for just a few moments, while Ziva made tea or got started on breakfast. Schmeil would always be so full of joy. Kvelling with happiness and pride for Ziva.

 _Two A's how wonderful_. _What a lovely wedding this will be_. _A big house, how great._

Tears pricked his eyes. Tony bit his lip. Refusing to cry.

Real men did not cry. DiNozzo men did not cry. Tony would not cry.

Senior moved closer to Tony, with his arms open. Tony stopped for a second. Before stepping forward. He felt his Dad's arms around him. Holding him tight. Holding him close.

They stood there for a few moments, only stopping when Tony's phone started ringing. The shrill ringtone echoing in the apartment.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Thanks for all the lovely reviews, faves, follows, and tweets.

I promise you I'm not killing Senior off.

Next chapter will have Tony and Ziva in Israel. They'll be there for a few chapters.

New chapter in about eight days.


	6. A Case of Cell Division

Tony woke with a startle. He blinked furiously, for a moment he was not sure where exactly he was. Hot sun streamed through the window. The blackout shades proving useless.

The walls were a plain beige, with marks where picture frames had once hung. It all came back to him. He was laying in the room that had once been Schmeil Pinkuses ornate study. On a air mattress, which had seen better days. Three of the four walls, touched the double air mattress. Tony was stunned that he and Ziva had both managed to sleep on it. Then again, he had passed out on the bed less than an hour, after he and Ziva slipped through the threshold into the apartment. He had barely registered Ziva laying down next to him, nor her getting up six short hours later.

The apartment was eerily quiet. Death stood in the corners, waiting to pounce.

Tony rubbed his hand over his face, and reached for his phone. He checked the time, it was late morning in Tel Aviv, or early morning in DC. He had slept for over twelve hours. Making up for twenty hours of traveling, which had been restless. His legs had bounced. Worry had pulsed through him. He was seeing Ziva for the first time in over two weeks. The longest they had been apart, since before they had gotten together.

He had been nervous to see Schmeil. Who according to Ziva had declined rapidly, since Ziva and Schmeil had touched down in Israel. Death was circling him, and he was letting it inch closer.

His work colleagues, who he was not as close with, compared to his previous ones, had spent the week before asking about his upcoming vacation. Tony had gotten tired of telling them, that he was going to Israel for family reasons. To hold his, wife's hand while she said goodbye to the person who had known her the longest. The person who knew her family too. How her mother laughed. How her sister sung.

Tony let out a sigh. His back ached, from the dual trauma of a tight airplane seat, and the air matress. It was going to be long few weeks.

The room was warm. Too warm. His mouth was dry. He decided he really should get up.

A dread, made his gut ache. Schmeil's apartment had changed, since he had last seen it three years ago. The artwork and artifacts, often gifts from great thinkers of the late twentieth century, had been packed away. Ziva had explained, with tears in her eyes that Schmeil had 'death cleaned', since he received his diagnosis. His belongings had been set aside to be donated to museums and universities, when the end came.

 _He wanted some control_ , Ziva had told Tony, in a quiet voice, as Tony had scanned the room.

His control over his body was falling away, but he still had control over his stuff. He exerted that control desperately. Clutching onto the last dregs of life.

Tony slowly, pulled himself up, getting off the mattress. He noticed that it only bounced up a tiny bit. No wonder, he felt like he had been sleeping on the floor.

He rubbed his back, and took a few careful breaths.

The air in the apartment was heavy. He dreaded what awaited him outside. Schmeil was likely asleep, he was on heavy drug regimens, so he spent most of the day asleep. A series of little sleeps, in preparation for the big sleep.

 _He is in so much pain_ , Ziva had reported as the drove from Ben Gurion toward the hills between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, destined for Schmeil's small apartment.

She was in so much pain. Not physically, but emotionally. He saw how heavy, it weighed on her. Dark circles around her eyes. Her slumped shoulders. The distant look in her eyes.

He wanted to make it better for her. He could not make this better for her.

Tony opened the door slightly, looking out into the living area. The kitchen, dining corner and living room all in one space in the center of the apartment. Designed to be open plan, and accessible as age caught up with its residents.

Ziva was sitting at the dining table. Her back to him. Hot tea steaming from the cup in front of her. A packet of bamba open. The little peanut puffs were the breakfast of champions, and less nutritious than what Ziva usually ate.

The was murmuring from the other bedroom, and the accented English of one of the Filipino nurses who came in and out of the apartment. They could be summoned with a button, and visited half a dozen times a day to check on Schmeil.

Tony padded through the apartment. His feet on the uncaparted floor.

"Morning," he murmured as he moved within earshot of Ziva. She startled, her shoulders rising, and her hands forming into fists. Ready to fight.

She had once been so ready to fight. So much danger surrounded her. Old instincts died hard.

"Boker Tov," she whispered. He noticed how her fists had unclenched, but that she had grabbed a white box. Her hands held it tightly. "There is coffee."

Coffee sounded good. Paradoxically, he was tired from such a long sleep.

"I will make you some," Ziva said.

She slid the box, which was the size of pen box into the side pocket of her combat pants. It stuck up stretching the clasp of the flap. Whatever it was, she was insistent on hiding it.

"I'm okay," he lied. "What's in the box?"

When had they started keeping secrets?

So much had changed in their weeks apart.

"Nothing," she lied. Her eyes flitted around the room. Avoiding his gaze.

It was seconds before she cracked, and placed the box on the table. They did not keep secrets. It was one of their rules.

He took a few seconds to realise what it was. A brand name in English, with a sticker in Hebrew over the top.

He took a breath. It was pregnancy test.

"Oh," he said. Desperate to say something. To say anything.

"This is the first one I have brought," she started.

He took the box, holding it tight in his hands. A little box, held all of their dreams. He couldn't let go.

"Like ever?" he asked.

With anyone else, seeing this box, would send him into a state of pure anxiety. With her, excitement ran through him.

Could it finally be their turn?

"No," she said with a frown, "But, this is the first one I have brought since we started trying."

Trying, how he hated that term. They were working for this baby. Obsessing.

"Okay," he uttered.

She had lived a thousand lives before him, all packed into a tight twenty two and a half years.

"My period is late," Ziva said softly. She reached across the table, grabbing her phone, entered the passcode and bringing up an app. Her fertility app. Tony recognised the garish bright colours.

"How late?" he asked. It was a unnecessary question. Her app had the supposed period days marked out, in an appropriate red colour.

"A week today," Ziva said. "That is the latest it has been, since -."

Since, an unexpected pregnancy, masked by a bout of anemia, was discovered three weeks after they returned from Italy. Ziva was already six weeks along then. It had been such a welcome surprise. Four and a half weeks later, he was rushing her to the emergency room. Driving as fast as he could, as if he could change the outcome. Stop the bleeding. Stop the pain.

He looked at the app. The days where conception was probable were marked by a smiley face. The smiley face days, started just before Ziva's graduation, and ended in the weekend afterward. Those few days beforehand, had been busy. Ziva had not mentioned she was ovulating, keeping good on her promise to be less militant, but they had fallen into bed easily. Maybe, she had simply omitted telling him, to seem less obsessed. He knew that she wanted this baby.

Her hypothesis had merit.

"Okay," he said.

"I have been having other symptoms too," Ziva declared. "At least I think I have."

He looked up at her. She knew her body well, it was part of her Mossad mindfulness training. She knew where the pain was and how to bury it. She also expected great things from her body, and was disappointed when it failed her.

"Everything tastes funny," she said softly. "And I am exhausted."

His eyes lit up. She was ticking the boxes of early pregnancy symptoms.

Could it finally be their turn?

"Your boobs look bigger," Tony declared.

A slight smile crossed Ziva's face, and then she shook her head. Loose curls falling around her face.

"They are not," she said with a tiny smile,"But, they hurt."

Tony mentally ticked off another symptom. More support for Ziva's hypothesis.

"Let's take the test," he mumurmed. He took her hand.

"What if I am wrong?" Ziva asked.

He squinted his eyes. Not understanding what she was trying to say. It was too early for this. He had not even had the coffee, she had offered him.

"There are other reasons my period could be late," Ziva said softly.

Tony nodded. Ziva's cycle had been erratic, affected by stress, weight, or the scarring from the infection.

Those men had taken so much for her. He wanted to kill them all over again, when ever the scars reared their ugly heads.

"I have not been looking after myself," Ziva continued. "These last few weeks."

She had thrown herself into Schmeil's illness and final journey. In those four days between Schmeil's collapse and Tony dropping her off at the airfield, she had spent hours at the hospital, and more hours on the phone. He remembered the white noise of Hebrew, how it wafted through the house. Ziva had been in full survival mode, and shut down whenever he tried to get her to open up.

Nothing else had mattered.

He gripped her hand. Acknowledging what she had said.

"I feel off," Ziva declared. "Last time I felt like this, of course I did not realise what it was at the time."

Last time. Those four and a half weeks. Where their whole world was turned upside down. They had been so ready to jump right in.

"Okay," he said again. At a loss at what else to say.

"I thought it was because I was here," Ziva whispered.

Israel would always be complicated for her. It was where she had been born, but it had long stopped being home.

Top many ghosts clamered at her, when she stepped through security at Ben Gurion. There were too many graves to visit here.

"Or because," Ziva paused. Taking in a heavy breath, and looking toward Schmeil's closed door. It was quiet. "Of what is about to happen."

Schmeil had known her since she was plucky three year old. With big dreams, and a bigger heart.

If this baby, was not just a figment of her imagination. It would be a baby Schmeil never got to meet.

He rubbed her wrist. Trying to comfort her.

"Do you really think it's just that?" he asked.

He winced as he said 'just'. Schmeil dying was not just anything.

"I am not sure," Ziva said.

He swallowed thickly.

"But, you have all the other symptoms," he said softly, trying to bring her back into reality.

"What if my body has made it up?" she asked. "All the other symptoms."

He frowned.

"Like a phantom pregnancy?" he asked. Like a Tudor Queen desperate to produce a heir.

"Yes," she said. "What if I want this so much that my body has made it all up?"

Would he brain and body, ever collude to do something so cruel?

"I don't think it will be that," he said softly. Trying to drag her into reality.

A silence swelled. In the other room, the Filipina nurse spoke softly to a sleeping Schmeil. Reminding them where they were. The house of the dying.

"What if it is negative?" Ziva finally asked.

"Then we'll know," Tony said.

Then they would be another month closer to their twelve month deadline. Another month closer to sitting in a doctors office. To a barrage of tests. To more uncertainty.

It would be another month of quiet disappointment. Swallowed even thought it burnt their throats.

"I do not know if I can take it," Ziva admitted. "Not right now."

Not while her last real connection to Israel was fading away. Not while everything was so damn hard.

"I'll be right here," he whispered. "We'll deal with it together."

There really was no 'we' in all of this. It was her body. She would be the one peeing on the stick. She would be the one dealing with the symptoms of developing life, while watching the closing credits on another.

"Even if I am pregnant," Ziva started. "It does not necessarily mean that we will get a baby."

Tony felt bile rise up his throat.

 _What if I never fall pregnant again_? she had lamented, when they were dealing with the aftermath of the miscarriage. _What if the same thing just keeps happening?_

Could she take more loss? Could he?

"Lets not think like that," he said. Trying to keep things optimistic. Positive.

Oh, how he hoped the test would be positive.

"It is a possibility," Ziva whispered.

 _What if this is because of what I did?_ Ziva had cried many times during that cruel winter, as they watched Breena bloom. _Because of all the lives I took._

"Whatever happens," he uttered softly. "We'll get through it."

To have and to hold.

In sickness and in health.

Good times and bad.

"We always do," he promised, willing a healthy pregnancy into the universe. "But, let's see what we are dealing with, before we start making contingency plans."

She looked at him. Her lips quivering.

"I wish I did not always jump to the worst case scenario," Ziva declared. She looked so close to tears. There had been so many tears these last few weeks. "I wish I had your optimism."

He swallowed thickly. His optimism had gotten him hurt before. He already had visions of toddler curls and little baby feet. He knew that if this pregnancy test came back negative, it would be kick in the guts.

It would hurt him so badly.

"We balance each other out," he replied softly. She was the ying to his yang. The fire to his water. "Shall we take this test?"

She nodded slowly.

* * *

Ten minutes later, after seeing off the Filipina nurse Maria who reported that Schmeil would sleep for a few hours, and Ziva's bladder recovered from performance anxiety, they sat in Schmeil's windowless bathroom waiting.

Both of them sat next to each other, knees to their chests, on the outside of Schmeil's bath enclosure. The room smelt like bleach and peppermint.

The test sat on a piece of toilet paper on top of the closed toilet lid. Tony's eyes were fixed intently on it. Watching for any changes in the second line. Ziva's eyes flitted around, desperate to avoid looking the test. She wanted to avoid getting her hopes up.

He rubbed knee, moving down her thigh. Trying to soothe her.

"One day, I will tell you how difficult it was to get a pregnancy test in the pharmacy," Ziva declared, offering a distraction.

Tony looked at her for a second. Eyes squinted with confusion.

"All of the residents here, are past child bearing age," Ziva said softly. She fiddled with he wedding ring on her ring finger. How right it looked sitting there. How glad he was that she was his wife. "They did not exactly have them on display. The chemist was as old as father time."

He smirked. Imaging Ziva asking for a pregnancy test from an old man.

First comes love, then comes marriage, and then comes the baby carriage. Then fifty years later (hopefully), comes the grim reaper.

His phone let out a soft vibrate. Telling him the test should be done. The vibration echoed in the tiny bathroom. Tony grimaced. Would the noise disturb Schmeil?

Would they finally be painting the spare bedroom closet to their bedroom?

"You look," Ziva whispered.

Her eyes fixed on her lap. She fiddled with her Star of David necklace, pressing the points into her finger tips. A nervous habit. She was expecting disappointment.

She was always expecting disappointment.

He gripped on the side of the bath, ignore this dull pain in his back, and got up. He took a few steps to the toilet and picked up the white piece of plastic.

He sucked in a deep breath, and studied the tiny window. It held all of their dreams. The next few minutes would be filled with joy or disappointment.

He let out the breath, and looked the result.

Two lines. Two pink lines. The second fainter than the first, but clearly there.

The key on the side of test told him what that meant. It was just like the movies.

A smile crossed his face. Reaching up to his ears. It was a smile of joy. Pure joy.

 _Daddy_ , a voice called in his head. _Daddy_. _Dad._

"What does it say?" Ziva asked. Looking up. She had shifted positions, crossing her legs. Her hand resting on her still flat stomach. Hopefully, soon it would bloom.

He bent down, and handed her the test, watching as her eyes lit up. Her mouth was open but she did not say a thing.

Two pink lines.

His eyes met hers.

"We're going to have baby," he said unnecessarily.

Her eyes went glassy. Her lips quivered. She looked down at her stomach.

Inside of her cells were dividing and multiplying. Him plus her. Basic arithmetic creating the most amazing thing. An everyday miracle. Yet across the hall, cells were dividing too causing the disease, which was stealing life from Schmeil. One process caused so many things.

"We are," she whispered.

A little piece of him. A little piece of her. All mixed up together in the most perfect way.

"I did not think it would happen this easily," Ziva whispered.

Tony would hardly call their journey easy. Still he did not prompt further. Lest it ruin a happy moment.

Instead, he crouched in front of her, the pregnancy test resting on her lap, and placed as soft kiss on her mouth.

Little baby feet. Tiny toddler curls. That new baby smell.

A baby. Then an inquisitive child. Then a grumpy teen. They would give this child the childhood neither of them had.

A piece of her. A piece of him. All mixed up together.

They were going to have a baby.

A baby.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

For those of you who remember the epilogue of "Scenes" would have known that this was coming. Thank you for waiting patiently and not spoiling the surprise in the reviews.

I've re-written this chapter three (actually four) times. So, I hope you enjoy it. The next chapter will be a more somber chapter, and up next week.

In case it's not clear, Ziva is five weeks pregnant in this chapter. As in five weeks since last period but three weeks since conception. Which according to the various websites I've been reading, is the most common time people find out of they are pregnant.

I know I may get some comments, asking me not to cause them to have another miscarriage. I can assure you that this pregnancy will be viable. Nonetheless, my heart goes out to people, for whom what I am writing about is not just a story, and for those who wanted the outcome I'm giving our dynamic duo but did not get it.

Also, I'm very aware that trying for nine months, is not actually that long in the grand scheme of things, even if it feels forever for those who are trying. I know, thay myself as a childfree person, will never be able to convey the journey of trying to build a family as authentically as I'd like.

The next three chapters will have our dynamic duo in Israel.

I have never been pregnant, but have a couple of friends who have had babies in the last year, so hopefully I will be as authentic as possible with the later chapters. As always, I do a ton of research (my Pinterest feed is currently full of pregnancy pins, rather than its usual books and travel), but I am sure I will make mistakes. Please let me know.


	7. Holding On And Letting Go

Ziva's favourite time of day was the sunrise. These days, especially during the warmer months, she did not often wake in time to see the sun rise up from the ground. Since, she had laid down her guns, and permitted herself to be lazy, she woke only as early as she needed too.

Still, on the last morning of June, she sat in Schmeil's bedroom, watching as the sun rose into the sky. Even through the curtains, Ziva could sense the sunrise. The heat filled the room. A new day.

In Somalia, for a while at least, she had counted sunrises. Willing herself to live another day. To see another sunrise. The sunrises had been beautiful there. Streaming through the bars of the window.

Schmeil's breathing echoed in the quiet room. It had sped up, and he was moving slightly. He was about to wake. The pain medication wearing off.

She knew this pattern having witnessed it every morning for nearly a month. Wakefulness would come slowly, with Schmeil having to wade through nine decades of memories first. Past, present and future all mixed up.

He always called for his mother. _Muter_ , he would call. His voice cracking. He would call for her with such longing. Such desperation. He had never really gotten over the loss of his mother.

His mother Malka had been a talented musician whose ambitions had been shelved for love and family life. Never having the opportunity to balance both. Schmeil had witnessed her cry for her lost dreams. Perhaps, that was why he had never married, fearful that he would steal dreams from a woman, by forcing her into domesticity. Perhaps, that was why he had clung so tightly to Rivka David's dreams, not wanting them to get snuffed out by Eli.

History had a habit of repeating itself. Schmeil knew that better than most.

She too remembered calling out for her own mother. _Ima_ , she would cry. Her voice shrill. I _ma._ The men beat her harder after that, knowing what she was saying. She was weak for calling for her mother. She was weak for letting their beatings get to her. These men would be equally as weak, if it was them.

Schmeil shifted slightly in the bed.

"Frima," he hissed.

Frima had been his older sister by two years. His little mother. An intelligent girl who had introduced him to his books. Diphtheria had claimed her, weeks after she had watched their mother marched to gas chamber. Schmeil dedicated many of his books to her.

Schmeil had spent decades trying to piece together those last few months of his family's lives. To understand why he had been spared, when they had been taken. Mourning for lives snuffed out before they were finished.

 _Tali_ , Ziva often cried for her. She honoured her with opera visits, for birthdays that were never celebrated. Still, like Schmeil she had obsessed over the last moments of her sisters life. Following the bus route, right up to where it had blown up. She had taken Tony on the same route. She too often wondered, why she had outlived Tali.

Tali had been the best of them.

Schmeil murmured other names. Crying for his father. For his little brother. There were other names Ziva did not recognize. Other ghosts in Schmeil's past. There were so many ghosts.

The past is never dead, it is not even past. Faulkner's words had never been so right.

"Rivka," Schmeil said softly.

His eyes were open fully now. He scanned the room. Staring at the window. At the streams of the light as they slipped through. He was making sense of the morning.

"It's me," Ziva said, reaching for Schmeil's hand. It was papery thin. His pyjama sleeves too long, and hung over his wrist. "Ziva."

Schmeil took a few careful blinks. Situating himself. The past was a foreign country, which he had returned from. Still, it left him jetlagged.

"Ziva," Schmeil said softly. His voice cracking. "You look so much like her."

Ziva ran her hand through her hair. The thing that was most similar to her mothers. She could remember her mother, brushing through the long dark strands in front of the mirror in her bedroom. She used to hum the latest pop song even if there was no radio playing.

"Boker Tov," Ziva whispered softly. "Shall I get the nurse?"

The nurse was sitting in the living room. Waiting to be summoned. To administer the drugs, which kept the pain at way. They also sent Schmeil to sleep.

 _Practising for the big sleep_ , Tony had said to her one night, when they talked about it.

"No," Schmeil said. Sucking in a big breath. Ziva watched as his chest ballooned filling with breath. With life. He was clinging to life.

Schmeil disliked the intrusion of the nurses, as they often helped him with tasks he used to be able to do. His dignity was stolen, as he needed help toileting. Schmeil did not mind the doctor so much, and often tried to engage him in in meeting of the minds. Before all of this, he and his doctor had been friends.

 _Even in his last days_ , the doctor had said wistfully as he slipped out of apartment. The doctor was old too, though not quite as old as Schmeil.

"But, the pain," Ziva hummed.

Schmeil was in so much pain. Too much pain. She could not bear to see him like this.

"I want to see the sun rise," Schmeil declared. Each word was punctuated by a breath. Schmeil was using his last dregs of strength to speak.

"It is beautiful here," Ziva whispered.

The sun peaking over the hills was beautiful. So different from the quiet sunrises she sometimes saw in the winter from the back of the house.

"I want to see it one last time," Schmeil said. Again each word was laboured.

It would not be long now. Mere days. And, Schmeil knew it.

Ziva nodded. Would this be his last sunrise?

She leapt up to her feet, and moved to the window. She pulled the curtains apart, and the blinds up. The sun rise filled the room.

Ziva blinked to adjust to the early morning light. She turned to Schmeil, he had moved slightly, and was patting the bed beside him.

"Sit," he demanded.

Ziva took a seat on top of the sheet next to him. It was tight quarters. Her hip bone rested on the bedside table. She moved her arm above him. Resting her arm on his pillow. This was the closest they had sat in long time. Ziva felt the warmness she used to feel when Schmeil used to read to Tali and Ziva. Ziva remembered sitting close, listening as Schmeil did different voices for all of the characters. Three sets of feet hanging over the couch. Her mother watching with a soft smile.

She listened for his breathing. Heard the beating of his heart.

In and out. Inhale. Exhale.

"Is Tony here?" Schmeil asked.

The drugs and the disease had riddled his memory with holes. A cruel fate for a man who had been a storyteller. Whose memories had been his testimony. His words would outlive him.

"Yes," Ziva whispered. "He came on Thursday."

He had been there for seven days. It had been six days since they had found out they were pregnant. Time marched forward at a furious pace.

"So you will not be alone," Schmeil said. Ziva noticed the gaps between words getting longer. "When I go."

 _You are not alone_ , Tony had whispered once in clumsy Hebrew. When she was getting ready to bury another family member. That had only been three and a half years ago. Time marched forward, taking casualties with it.

"No," Ziva said softly.

Her hand touched her stomach. Fingers on the tank top she liked to sleep in. Even in an empty room she would not be alone.

"Good," Schmeil said. "I did not want you to be alone."

She watched as he gripped the sheet. His hands forming fists. Another wave of pain.

It took great pain to come into to the world, and great pain to leave it.

"Shall I get the nurse?" Ziva asked again.

Here they were, looking out for each other. Two orphans holding onto each other, when the ghosts circled.

"Not yet," Schemil said. Letting out a slight cough. Beads of sweat on his forehead.

Ziva reached behind her, and picked up the cup of water. She placed it in front of his eye line, and the old man nodded. She placed the straw in his mouth, and held the plastic cup, Schmeil's hands were to shaky for glass. He sucked a few careful sips. Then spat up the straw. Ziva dipped her finger into the cup, and ran her wet finger over his lips. He licked them.

"Thank you," Schmeil whispered, as she placed the cup back on the bedside table.

The sun was nearly full up. Warm light filled the room.

"It is okay," Ziva replied. The Hebrew tasted funny in her mouth. She had spoken it on and off for weeks. It did not feel right.

Was she losing Hebrew, like she had lost Israel?

Would this child know Hebrew?

"Thank you for coming with me," Schmeil continued. "For staying for this."

Ziva took a deep breath in, realising what he was trying to say.

He had needed someone to hold his hand while he made his final journey. Even if he had not been able to admit it.

"I could not leave you alone," Ziva said softly.

Schmeil sucked in a deep breath. He made a gurgling noise.

"I would not have been alone," he uttered. Ziva watched as he swallowed thickly. His basic functions were failing. "I have my books."

Ziva let out a tiny half laugh.

Schmeils books were mostly wrapped up. To be given out as gifts, after Schmeil died.

Once upon a time, Schmeil had watched as men in uniform had tipped books into bonfires. Schmeil still young then had watched with tears in his eyes, as words that had been company during his childhood were censored. Years later, after too much loss Schmeil had made a home in a complicated country that looked out onto the mediterranean sea. He had made a home for all of the books, lining his apartment with books he had rescued.

Now, he had to find new homes for them. New readers, because stories lived forever.

"I could not leave you alone," Ziva whispered.

He was the last one left. Disease and destruction had taken his family from him. His mother. His father. His brother. His beloved sister. Fear had denied him great love.

Friends too had been swept up in the winds of history. Friends had laid down their lives to form the new state, and later to defend it. Friends, had caught the 'gay disease', with ulcers in the mouths and family disowning them. Friends caught in intifada, by unexpected bombs. Friends who had succumbed to the darkness in their own heads.

So much had been taken from Schmeil in his nine and half decades on earth.

Still, his books would outlive him.

"Thank you," Schmeil repeated.

Ziva rubbed his hand. It was so papery. The skin translucent, with a thick purple vein running up his arm.

"I am pregnant," Ziva said, after a few quiet moments.

It had been six days since she and Tony had discovered the pregnancy. In that time, she had taken three more pregnancy tests, without telling Tony, each time she had gotten the same result. Positive. Pregnant. She had accepted that the pregnancy was indeed real. Not a false positive, like she had so feared.

Still, every time she pulled down her underwear she expected to see blood. She was so used to things ending with pain.

She was sure she did not deserve nice things.

"Oh," Schmeil said. "How lovely."

Even in these final moments, Schmeil could find the joy.

 _You must find the joy_ , he had said to her so many times, when the darkness threatened to take over.

"The cycle of life," Schmeil continued. "I find great comfort in that. I hope you do to."

 _You're going to be a big sister_ , Ziva. Her mother had said, as sat in the car driving to Haifa. Her mother's face had started to balloon, and her summer dresses sat tightly on her stomach. _You're going to be the best big sister._

And she had been, until her services were no longer needed.

"I do," Ziva admitted.

She was not of the belief that this pregnancy had happened because she was losing Schmeil. It was a coincidence, even if Gibbs did not believe in them. They had been trying for this baby, for nearly a year.

Still, there was comfort. A warm feeling. Like everything was how it was supposed to be.

"I am glad you will not be alone," Schmeil whispered. "I worried about that."

Alone. It had been a long time since she felt alone. She had filled her life with so many people. So much love.

Her friends, who had become her chosen family. Her other friends, newer ones from her life without guns. Her new job. The neighbour that she shared waves and smiles with from across the driveway. Her life was so full.

"I wish you would be here to meet the baby," Ziva admitted.

She felt her eyes prick with tears.

Schmeil patted her hand. His eyes were glassy too.

"So do I," he admitted.

She could almost picture it. Schmeil holding a tiny baby. A creature with Tony's nose and her mouth. The oldest person in their world holding the youngest. It was an image that was never to be.

No matter how much she wanted it.

"Tony is very excited," Ziva said softly.

Schmeil gripped the bed sheet again. Another attack of pain. The waves were getting closer together. Ziva could hear the nurse padding around the apartment.

It would not be to long. Soon the pain would get too much.

"I bet he is," Schmeil said, before letting out a cough. Ziva rubbed his back. His bones protruding through his skin. He was a skeleton. He had barely eaten in these last few days. His body was shutting down. "Are you?"

She was scared. Scared of what might happen. Scared of what sort of mother she would be. She had done so many horrible things.

"I am cautious," she admitted.

Schmeil nodded. He had been told of the last pregnancy only after it had burnt out. He had listened to Ziva, and offered wise words. He had told her to let Tony in, and to stop blaming herself. Both tall orders, especially the latter. He had helped her as she tried to intellectualise what had happened.

"You must not lose the joy," Schmeil declared. His hands dug into the duvet. The time between words was longer, most noticable.

"I am trying," Ziva admitted. The old man had paled.

The pain really was too much. It was torturous to let this go on any longer.

"The darkness is easy to full into," Schmeil continued.

Ziva nodded.

"Are you scared?" Ziva asked softly. "Of what comes next."

She had faced death so many times. Running on pure adrenaline. She had come so close. Death narrowly avoiding it.

"It is only human," Schmeil said softly. "But, I am ready."

 _I am ready to die_ , Ziva had declared sitting in Saleem's chair. In that dusty cell. She had done so many horrible things, and now she would pay for them.

Tony had refused to listen to her. Dragging her out of the desert.

For that she was glad. She had not been ready after all. She had simply believed that she deserved everything that came next.

"Other times," Schmeil said, with long breaths between breaths. "I was not ready. I am at peace with it now."

Death had come calling for Schmeil so many times. The death camps. The war of independence. A bout with pneumonia a decade ago.

Peace. Ziva had worked so hard to carve a life of peace.

"I am not ready to let go," Ziva said.

She was not ready to imagine life without her Schmeil. Without his wise words.

"I know," Schmeil said. "But, you must."

It was one of the hardest things she would have to do.

"I am going to get the nurse," Ziva finally said.

Schmeil nodded. Accepting defeat.

"In a minute," Schmeil said.

Just one more minute. She needed just another minute. A moment longer. He was holding on too.

"Promise me something," Schmeil said, as he lowered himself deeper into the bed. His voice was hoarse now.

"Anything," Ziva said, as she moved off the bed, still holding his hand. No one refused the requests of the dying.

"Do not name your child after me," he said as he sunk deeper into the bed.

Ziva blinked a couple of times. She and Tony had not yet really talked of this newly discovered pregnancy. Not wanting to tempt fate, and because it felt weird to talk about while a man was dying in the next room over. Actively dying, how silly that phrase sounded.

Would the baby be a boy or a girl?

Would this baby live beyond their dreams?

"Okay," she said.

The sun was fully risen. Standing proudly in the sky. A new day had dawned. Bright light filled the room. It was almost blinding.

"I am going to get the nurse now," Ziva said firmly. There was no question. The pain was too much.

Schmeil nodded.

"Please," he croaked out. The pain was too much.

Ziva took a few short steps toward the door, and walked toward the living room. The nurse was standing close, ready to soothe Schmeil's pain. Tony was sitting at the dining table, his hair messy. Coffee steaming on the table. Ziva nodded, and lead the two others into the room.

A few minutes later, the nurse stood by Schmeil's shoulder injecting the pain relief into the IV. Ziva watched as the Schmeil started to soften, as the drugs took effect. He sunk deeper into the bed. The nurse pulled the sheet over him. His arms over the top.

This might be his final slumber.

"I love you," Schmeil whispered. His voice was barely above a whisper. The drugs kicking in.

Tony tugged on Ziva's hand. She wrapped her fingers around them. Pulling him close. She rested her head on his shoulder. He smelt like sleep. The sleeve of the grey NCIS shirt he slept in, had a hole. Her hair got caught.

"I love you too," Ziva whispered softly.

She wanted to say so much more. She wanted to thank him for never giving up on her. She wanted to thank him for his wise words.

"I love you," Tony said, his voice cracking. Ziva squeezed his hand. Not realising how much Schmeil had meant to Tony.

For a second Ziva was sure she saw a smile on Schmeil's face, before he closed his eyes.

The room was quiet. Peaceful.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Thank you for all the kind words, tweets and general love.

I have never been around someone who was dying, so apologies for the inaccuracies of this one. I'm actually feeling kinda meh about this one.

The next two chapters will be in Israel, before we go back to DC.


	8. Picking Up The Pieces

"Ziva," a voice called. It came from far away. From the sky.

She heard a maniacal laugh. Ari. Then the rev of a motorcycle. How he loved his motorcycle. More than he ever could another person.

He came into this world in two halves, that would never become a whole.

Then she saw Tali, sixteen years old with that awful haircut she had gotten just before she died. The light in a dark room. Tali really had been the best of them.

She was smiling. Her lips pursed. She was about to sing.

She had such a beautiful voice. One that could make grown men cry. Even their hard-hearted father.

"Ziva," the voice called again. She felt a pull on her shoulder.

Schmeil stood next to Tali. Leaning on his walking stick. Older than Tali ever knew him. There was no pain in his eyes. He face radiated peace. Her mother was there too, a book in her hand. A huge smile of her face. She was happy. Happier than Ziva had even seen her. Next to her mother, but not to close was her father. He was not the father of his later years. Instead the man who still had her love. The man who was no jaded by the horrors he had seen. They were waving. Saying goodbye.

In letting go of one of them, she was letting go of them all. Maybe, it was time to do that.

"Ziva," the voice called again. It was loud. Bellowing. Like her father used to be when he was angry. "It's just a baddream."

Where was the voice coming from? Schmeil. Her father. Her mother.

It wasn't a bad dream.

Suddenly, there was water. Clear water. She was struggling to keep afloat, kicking her legs just to tread water. Her family got further and further away. She was being pulled away.

"Ziva," the voice said. She could not place it. Was it her mothers? Had she fallen asleep on the couch again, waiting for her father to come home. "Let's wake up now."

The voice became more familiar. She felt a warmth in her stomach. The voice made her feel safe.

She opened her eyes. Careful blinks. Expecting danger.

She had been taught to expect danger.

Tony stood in front of her. Crouched in front of the couch. His face etched with concern. The lines ran deep. Ziva reached for his face, placing her hand on his cheek. It was scratchy with stubble.

He had not shaved since the funeral.

Since Schmeil's early morning funeral.

She had given the eulogy. Standing in front of famed academics, peace activists, and writers. Her mother's crowd. She had spent most of the time tugging at the black dress, that was too thick for the Israeli summer. That sat tightly on her tender chest.

The eulogy had been painful. How could she talk about her Schmeil in the past tense?

Schmeil had been larger than life, despite his small stature. He was expected to outrun death. To live forever. Now, only his words would immortal.

She had focused on Tony, as he had encouraged to do. The Hebrew tasting not quite right on her tongue. Or maybe, the metallic taste was from the pregnancy.

Either way she felt nauseous.

Tony had sat still, not understanding what she was saying, but following her eyes. Promising her she was not alone.

She had looked for him last time. Last time she gave a eulogy in a language which felt foreign despite being her first. Instead, she had stood facing military men and mossad operatives. She remembered focusing on of of the security officers, with sandy hair similar to Tony's.

It was not him, and it never would be. And, so during those cool winter evenings she had fallen down a rabbit hole.

Things were different now. Not just the searing heat of the sun. Or the peace that she had seen in Schmeil during his final days. But, the gold ring around her finger. A promise.

 _You are not alone._

"You okay?" he asked. The concern starting to fade.

He was tanned. Since, he had landed in Israel, he took a daily walk, often during the warmest part of the day despite her advice. Sometimes making phone calls. Sometimes, just communing with his thoughts.

These past weeks had been hard on him too.

"Yes," she said. Her mouth was dry. Her head spinning. "What time is it?"

He pulled his phone from his pocket, and pointed to the time. It was mid afternoon. He got up and sat next to her on the couch. Adjusting her position so he could sit. He pulled her close, leaving space either side of them on the couch.

It had been just under five days since Schmeil died, four days since his early morning funeral, and three days since Tony and Ziva had ditched the shiva, heading for the farmhouse.

Time moved fast and slow all at once.

The past was a foreign country, they did things differently there.

It was the last part of Israel, Ziva owned. She had sold the Haifa beach house, because it contained too many ghosts, and the souless minimalist apartment in Tel Aviv. Even though her father's accountant had suggested she rent both of them out for a tidy profit. He had presented her with the most hands-off plan, which would mean she would never have to work for anything other than joy again.

Instead of thinking with her head, she had thought with her heart. Wanting to sever her connections to Israel and her father. She had cashed it all out, watching as her father's accountant hair grey as she announced it over Skype. She had cashed out, and given herself a tidy little nest egg, that had paid for her education, and given them a healthy deposit for the David-DiNozzo dream house.

It had scratched at the scar tissue of Tony's complex about money. They were closing on the house weeks before their wedding. Tony wanted to be the type of man who provided, and did so legitimately.

 _I'm not like my Dad_ , he had said as they waited outside the office of their mortgage broker.

"We need to get going soon," Ziva whispered, as she leaned back on the couch. She could sink right into it. She was ready to go back to sleep.

They had an early morning flight from Ben Gurion, and were planning to stay in an airport hotel the night before. Lest they risk being delayed by the long drive. Especially, as she was so tired these days. It was a fatigue that seeped right into to her bones.

He patted her knee.

"We've got a little time," he said.

Her stomach grumbled. She felt a pang of nausea. Her hand reached up, to cover her mouth. She knew enough to know she was not supposed to get hungry, because that just made things worse.

The misnamed morning sickness, had started during the shiva. The streams of food, and the bodies packed into Schmeil's tiny apartment had set it off. Thick goulashes, recipes from the old country, mingled with finely chopped Israeli salads on Schmeil's kitchen counter. All of it affected her newly heightened sense of smell.

Tony had filled his plate. A mountain of food so high, it made the paper plate sag. He was eating for two, or rather three, he had joked as she shot him a disapproving look. He was a good Italian boy, eating because he was sad. Jews and Italians were similar in that respect.

Tony had stood quietly like a good husband, while different people cornered Ziva, offering condolences and memories.

May his memory be a blessing.

 _You're his Ziva_ , an author whose work Ziva had studied in school said, wrapping a frail arm around her. _He spoke so highly of you. He was so proud_.

 _You're Rivka's daughter_ , a man who was at least two decades younger than Schmeil. One of his old graduate students. _She kept both Schmeil and I so organised. I should have dedicated my thesis to her. She was always the smartest in the room._

It had been a day of memories. Memories she was not ready to confront.

Tony had noticed her expression and reached across to the coffee table, and presented her with some crackers that had been left out on plate. She had taken them with her, when she settled down to read. She had read less than a page, before crashing.

She took a careful bite. They were stale but good enough. The crumbs fell onto her t-shirt.

The morning sickness had yet to become the all-day affair it had last time. When the nausea had kept her in bed, causing her to miss classes. The surprise pregnancy and its unexpected ending had caused her grades to take a dive.

She worried too, that this much wanted and much planned for pregnancy might leave her debilitate her again. She dreaded the two flights, it would take for them to get home.

Even more, she was full of dread that it would end up like last time.

That tearful phone call. The doctor confirming Ziva's suspicion. Tony looking out the window as his eyes got glassy. He was trying to hide it from her, but she could see him in the reflection.

"What did you do, while I was asleep?" Ziva asked. Trying to banish the bad thoughts with idle conversation. She had become so American, in that respect.

Tony reached across and took one of the crackers. He chewed loudly.

"Went for a walk," he said between bites. The crumbs falling onto his shirt, the same one he had worn the day before. "Did some exploring, didn't really get to do much of that last time we were here."

Ziva remembered chasing her siblings around the olive groves. The giggles. The noise.

She remembered the semi-feral cat and her litter, they had found making a home in the groves. Those tiny kittens and the little mewing sound they made. How angry her father had been when Ziva tried to bring them back to the farmhouse. Tali had already named them.

He had shot all of them. Ziva had heard the gunshots, when she was supposed to be napping. Pop. Pop. Pop. Her mother had come in a few moments later, with mascara on her cheeks. Tali sleeping peacefully on.

 _You must not tell your sister,_ her mother had said, offering Ziva candy as a bribe. _It will break her heart._

The farmhouse, with its hundred year old walls, was full of memories. Good and bad.

"We have to come back here," Tony said. "When baby is born."

Ziva placed her hand on her stomach. She would be seven weeks tomorrow, if they had calculated their dates right.

If it all wasn't some delusion.

She was still waiting for the rug to be pulled out from her.

"Here?" she asked.

An ancient farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Full of ghosts.

It was no place for a child. The electricity supply was finicky. Tony had called visiting the farmhouse, glorified camping, as they drove away from it last time.

"Yeah," Tony said,wearing a soft smile. "And, Israel in general. Maybe, take them to Haifa. Kids like beaches right."

Tony had caught her up on the happenings of their extended family, as they drove to the farmhouse. Jimmy and Breena had spent the fourth of July weekend, with Jimmy's family. His newly divorced brother, his well adjusted niece, and his naggy mother. They had sent a video, of eighteen month old Tori shrieking with delight as they waves lapped on her tiny feet. Her family laughed, and cheered her on.

Ziva had laughed as the tinny cell phone shrieks filled the rented car. It felt so good to laugh. A full belly laugh. Then she felt a little guilty for laughing, so soon after Schmeil had been buried, but the guilt passed. Like the waves lapping the beach.

That would be them one day. With their dark haired child. Maybe, with Senior in the background.

"It is a long flight," Ziva murmured.

She thought she was ready to shut off Israel for good. She had nothing here. Just gravestones. Graves that she never visited, because the closeness of the two dates made her heart ache.

Could she make new memories here?

"When baby is bit older, maybe," Tony said softly. "Or we could be those parents who give out earplugs with a cute note."

This baby was already so real to him.

She hoped it would not be taken away.

She could not see him go through that again. The pain in his eyes.

"Maybe," she said softly.

She heard the distant giggle of a child. She had laughed so much in this house. She was always so excited to come here. Mostly, because they only came with her father.

Maybe they could fill it with new life. More laughter. Less pain.

"I was born here," she murmured.

Tony nodded. He knew this. She had told him this.

"Yeah," he said, wrapping his arm over her shoulder. "Which room was it, again?"

She pointed to the door. To the master bedroom. The bedroom she and Tony never slept in when they visited.

 _You were in such a rush, motek_. _If your Aunt Nettie had not have been there, your father would had to help me_. her mother had told her almost every year just before her birthday. _As soon as your father walked through the door, you started up. During a storm too._

She closed her eyes. Imagining her mother, for just a moment, older than she ever got to be. Grey streaks through her dark hair. Laughter, not frown lines, on her face.

 _Your going to be Savata, Ima._ What would her mother have made of all of this? Of her life now. Would she be proud?

She looked at Tony, noticing the dreamy look on his face.

"What else did you do today?" Ziva asked, pressing her hand into his thigh.

The present, she had decided, as she watched the burial society file into Schmeil's small room. She must focus on the present.

"Caught up on some things," Tony said, turning to look at her. "Finally sent the McCouple a proper congratulations message. Which, I signed from both of us."

Ziva nodded. During her absence, McGee and Delilah had finally gotten engaged. They had sent around a photo of the two of them behind a candlelit table, with Delilah holding up her ring finger. A classy diamond pinned on her finger.

She had missed so much.

"I wonder what sort of nerd memorabilia they're gonna register for," Tony muttered. "Do you think they make Star Wars sheets for a king bed?"

Ziva reached up, and stifled a yawn.

She thought for a moment of their wedding. Of their favourite people surrounding them, as they promised each other forever. Of the early morning walk between her and Schmiel. His wise words, much needed as the darkness threatened to ruin a beautiful day.

A tear pricked her eye.

Was it to early to blame it on the hormones?

"Abby called me," Tony said. His voice calm.

Ziva felt the hairs on her back stand up. She took a deep breath in. Her hands tingled. Fear.

Her old job carried so much danger. What sort of tragedy had befallen the team now?

She could not face another funeral. Not so soon.

"Is everything okay?" she asked. Her voice cracking.

He turned to her. A smile on his face. She felt her fear crumble, and let out a breath. Everything was okay.

"Yeah," he said firmly. He opened up his phone. "She just wanted to make sure I go this."

He opened up a video, it was of Abby's lab, and the whole team were standing in front of a camera. She watched as they sing happy birthday deliciously off-key. Even Gibbs had a slight smile. He was getting softer as he aged.

Her eyes pricked with tears again.

Definitely the hormones.

"She knew we'd be flying tomorrow, so she wanted me to see it before we set off," Tony said. Still smiling.

A guilty feeling stewed in her, adding to the nausea.

She had forgotten his birthday.

"It's your birthday," she whispered.

Once, when they were still dating, and Tony had a one too many glasses of wine. Tony had told her just how much it hurt when he forgot him in Maui.

 _It hurt so much when I realised he'd actually left me,_ Tony had said. The red wine turned truth serum marking his lips an unnatural purple. _If we ever have kids, I'd never do that to them._

"Tomorrow," he said. Still wearing his smile. A thousand watt smile, she had told Schmeil once during those early morning phone calls. "Maybe, it'll get us bumped up. Twelve hours in the sky will be easier in business class."

A tear fell down her face.

"I forgot your birthday," she admitted.

They kept no secrets from each other.

His face fell for a moment, but he recovered it quickly, slipping it into a neutral expression. He carried so much pain.

She had caused him so much pain.

"It's okay," he said. Keeping a neutral tone. "You've had a lot going on."

She had been so consumed in the last few weeks. Consumed by Schmeil's final moments. Consumed by the impending loss. She had grieved ten times over.

Being back in Israel, had swirled up so many dormant feelings. So many ghosts.

"I will make it up to you," she replied.

She took a deep breath, remembering the last time she had said such words. When they were in Israel last time tracing her past, while she decided what do with her future. She had organised a birthday surprise for him, taking him to a cinema playing Casablanca. It had ended with a shootout, from hired guns. She had promised to make it up to him, then too. He had insisted it was not the worst birthday he ever had.

Tony shook his head.

"I'm getting the best present," he said, placing a hand on her still flat stomach. "Even, if I have to wait seven months to unwrap it."

His hand was warm on her stomach. He radiated love.

"You'll be worth waiting for," he murmured to her stomach. He looked back up at her. "Do you think the baby knows I'm here?"

He was already so in love. It was sickly. Like cola on a hot day.

"I told Schmeil about the baby," she said. Looking away from him.

 _We must find the joy_ , Schmeil had commanded. A mantra that had gotten him through dark times, and would get her through them too.

"Really?" Tony asked.

Ziva nodded, turning back to him.

"I did not intend too," she started, feeling her lip quiver. "We were talking about things. Schmeil said he was worried about leaving me alone. I told him about the baby. He was so happy."

Tony's face launched into a smile. A thousand watts.

"That's good," he said softly.

She leaned her head on his shoulder. He smelt like soap. He had showered at some point today.

"I wish that Schmeil could have gotten to meet the baby," Ziva whispered.

Tony nodded.

"Me too," he uttered. His voice getting slightly higher.

His hand rubbed her shoulder.

"We'll tell the baby about him," Tony promised. His voice soft, like he did when talked about the past. "And, everyone else who was important to us."

Ziva smiled. He painted such a picture.

Still, she wished they had more than stories. She wanted to watch her mother become the quintessential Jewish grandmother. She had wanted to see her father soften with a grandchild, like she had always believed he would. She wanted her little sister to become the doting Aunt. She had wanted Schmeil to tell stories to her children.

"He made me promise not to name the baby after him," Ziva said.

She remembered making her sister promise her the same thing. Convinced that she would be the one whose life would be snuffed out.

 _Ziva is too ugly a name for me to inflict on another human being_ , Tali had promised, not looking up from her math book. Ziva's request was simply too ridiculous.

Tali had been the one whose life had been ended before all the chapters had been written. Maybe, a part of Tali had always known that. She had always been so impatient.

"Glad, I don't have to have that discussion with you," he muttered. "Schmeil DiNozzo doesn't quite have the right ring to it. Especially for a girl."

She looked up at him. His sandy hair. His nose. The curve of his mouth.

Which of his features would the baby inherit?

"Do you think the baby is a girl?" she asked.

He looked back at her. That same dreamy look on his face, the one he always had when he talked about the baby.

"Maybe, I don't know," he shrugged. "Just kinda have this gut feeling."

This baby was already so real to him.

"It could be a boy," Ziva said. She was always the realist in their relationship. A healthy balance to Tony's weird brand of optimism. _I'm the wildcard_ , he told her once. "It is a 50/50 chance."

None of that mattered to her. She had not permitted herself to think too far ahead with this pregnancy. She was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

For it all to be taken away.

She had already lost so much. She had learnt to expect it.

"None of that really matters," he replied, tangling his fingers in her hair. "I'm just glad it's happening. Really glad."

He leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

She felt safe. She felt loved.

This baby was going to be loved. This baby was going to be safe.

They were going to keep the baby safe. They were going to make sure this baby knew it was loved.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?" he asked, as he swept a loose curl away from her face.

"For these last few weeks," Ziva said. "I know it must have been hard. You had different plans for your summer, and your birthday -"

He placed a finger on her lips, and shook his head dramatically.

"Where you go, I go," he said. His eyes looking into hers. "Remember, we made vows about that."

In good times, and bad. In sickness and in health. Til death do them part.

Even before the actually wedding, they had made similar promises.

It's us versus the world, they had declared in this very room. While their relationship was still new. Still so tentative.

"Still," Ziva said. Feeling that warmth through her. Love and gratitude. So much love. "Thank you."

She could never thank him enough.

"I'm gonna miss him," he muttered,breaking eye contact from her. He never could look her in the eyes when he was sad. His voice cracking. Sadness seeping through.

Her lip quivered. Another set of tears. She had cried so much over these last few days.

"Me too," she whispered.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

I'm sorry there was not chapter last week. I was not happy with the one I had prepared. So ended up re writing it, and cutting a chapter from the plan. Though I may add another chapter later on, but we'll see. Isn't fanfic fun.

It doesn't affect anything plot wise, but we'll be back in DC next chapter. I aim to get the next chapter up next week, where we will see Senior again.

I'm not religious, so I apologize if I got any of the Jewish funeral/shiva stuff wrong when mentioned early in the chapter.

Also, how amazing was 'She'. I actually watched this episode, so that's saying something. I'm so glad, that it is cannon that Ziva's alive, even if pretty much ignore the canon after S10. I'm hoping that one day, the old muse can manage to write them as close to cannon.

Thanks again for all the love. I owe so many review replies. If I miss your review, please know that I am so glad you're still reading, and hope your enjoying things, despite the sad tone.

And, to all the guest reviewers who I cannot reply to. Thank you so much. Especially those of you who review often.


	9. Secrets Revealed

Tony smiled, when his Dad appeared in the doorway the screened porch, with a smirk on his face. Tony's arms, back and shoulders ached carrying the groceies he had set out early to collect. A loaded canvas shopping bag pulled on an old shoulder injury.

Real men only made one trip. Real men, in yuppie Northern Virginia also used reusable bags.

"You were out early," Senior said, as he took three bags from Tony. Lightening his load, like family was supposed to.

They were finally becoming that kind of family.

"Still on Israeli time," Tony declared, as they traipsed through the house. Depositing the bags on the kitchen counter. Quickly filling up the once clear counter.

He and Ziva had landed back in DC, late the previous evening. Senior had been waiting for them, with open arms. For which Tony was grateful. The two flights, and the three hour layover in Boston, had exhausted him. He had not wanted to worry about driving home.

"Ziva's still asleep," Senior announced.

Tony had inisited Senior stay their guest room, because by the time they got from Dulles to deepest darkest suburbia on a Friday night, it was too late for Senior to drive home. Besides, the guest bed was already made up, as Senior had been checking in on the house, while they were away.

"She's always been better at adjusting to time zones," Tony replied.

He checked the time on the clock on the oven, it was mid morning. Much later, than Ziva usually slept.

Senior picked up his coffee from the dining room tale. He was drinking from the orange coloured mug that he always ended up with, when he visited.

Tony stared at the bags of groceries, and felt a tiredness creep through him.

He may have gone overboard in the grocery store. His hunter gather instinct had gone into overdrive, since they had discovered Ziva was pregnant.

Senior took a sip of his coffee.

"She fell right asleep in the car," Senior said.

Ziva had alternated been sleeping, and looking like she was about to throw up, during the two flight odyssey it had taken them to get home. She had been miserable, even with the extra leg room from their business class seats.

When they got through customs, and into Senior's car, Ziva had fallen asleep as soon as the car started to moving. It was not a deep sleep, but a doze, which made her jolt whenever the car went over speed bumps, or turned too quickly. Tony had been to busy, looking after Ziva to really talk to his father.

"She was pretty tired," Tony replied, as he turned the coffee machine on again. The jetlag was about to hit. Hard. "It's been a long few weeks."

For both of them.

Tony had never been so close to such a prolonged death. Not as an adult.

Still, he could not deny how peaceful Schmeil had looked in the moments before.

"Of course," Senior said. The coffee machine beeped.

Tony grabbed a coffee mug from the cupboard, and poured a cup for himself. He held up the coffee jug, offering Senior another cup. Senior shook his head.

"How was it?" Senior asked.

Tony took a sip of his coffee. It did its job. He felt the jolt of energy. It was probably a placebo effect but Tony did not care.

"Israel?" Tony asked, feeling snark seep into his voice. "Or watching Schmeil die?"

Tony watch as his father averted his eyes. Tony was used to radical honesty with Ziva, a relationship that had slowly pulled developed as they started to claw at the walls, the others put up. With Senior, things were still a little tentative. There were still things that they did not talk about.

The past was not fully past. It had left some scars, which while healed, left sensitive scar tissue.

"Both, I guess," Senior murmured, talking to the groceries on the kitchen counter. "It's okay, Junior, I thought you might wanna talk. I know we don't really talk about things."

Tony felt a kick in his gut.

"It was hard, Dad," Tony said, as he moved around the kitchen, so father and son stood closer. Closing the gap. "I mean, half the time I felt like I was an extra in the corner. Schmeil and Ziva had a lot of history, and memories. It was hard to watch knowing what Ziva was about to lose.."

Tony's Dad slowly looked up. Father and son stood face to face.

"She spent so long focused on him," Tony said, his voice cracking. "I worry that she's not really processed things yet. Like she knows he's dead, and has kinda gone through some of stages of grief, but I know she's gonna be sad for a while. She kinda shuts down when she gets sad."

Ziva had a tendency to shut him, and everyone else out when she got too sad, and that was what killed him. Watching her suffer, and not being able to fix it.

"What about you, Junior?" Senior asked.

Tony felt a warmth. His Dad was listening to him. His Dad cared. Eight year old Tony DiNozzo had always wanted his Dad to care.

"I'm fine, Dad," Tony replied, looking toward the window, at the garden. "I mean I'm sad that Schmeil's died. I'm sad that-"

Tony stopped mid sentence. The baby was still a secret. Things were still so early. So much could go wrong, and Ziva was worrying for both of them.

He had become obnoxiously optimistic in the face of her fear, if only to balance her out. To show the universe that this baby was wanted.

"You're sad that?" Senior asked, picking up the dropped sentence.

"I'm sad that Ziva's sad," Tony said too quickly. "I mean sad doesn't really cover it. He was her Schmeil. He was the closest thing to a biological family she had left. He had known her since she was three. In losing him, she has lost a lot."

Senior swallowed thickly.

"I still don't know how to really support her," Tony continued.

He started to move back into the kitchen. Remembering that there were preshibles in the grocery bags. The conversation was getting too heavy. He needed to move, to shake off this heaviness.

Senior, perhaps also needing a distraction started to root through the shopping bags, pulling out items and lining them up on the counter.

"Ziva's lost a lot of people," Tony said softly.

Most of those losses had been before Tony had known her. The loss of her father, had been when he had known her, but they had not been together then. He did not know how to support her.

 _You are not alone_ , he had promised her. Then and now. Things were different now.

"I know," Senior said softly. "And, I know you want to help her. You have always wanted to make things better for people."

Tony started picked up the groceries Senior had taken out of the bags. He opened the door on the pantry, and noted it was still rather full. He should have checked everything before he went out.

"Through good times and bad, right?" Tony said.

He looked to the counter and noticed the perishables. He opened the freezer, and threw another packet of frozen peas into the drawer. Another thing they had not needed.

He really should have made a list.

"I never did get that part right," Senior replied, lightening the mood by talking about his more than half a dozen failed marriages.

Tony stuffed the canvas bag into another empty canvas bag.

"I'm sure you tried," Tony said.

"I didn't," Senior replied. "But, I'm learning now. Guess, an old dog can learn new tricks."

Tony grabbed a bag stuffed with vegetables and moved toward the fridge. He opened the fridge, and was surprised to see it both clean and empty. Then he remembered, that during the two weeks he and Ziva were apart, he had cleaned it out. He had done so many chores out of boredom, desperate for a distraction in the huge empty house.

"I thought the actual dying part, would be different," Tony said after a few quiet moments.

He opened the crisper drawer, and placed the cucumbers, and tomatoes into the drawer. Ziva had a whole system of meal planning, which meant that they seldom wasted vegetables. Tony had been winging it when he walked around the supermarket, on the busy Saturday. Watching, as parents tried to placate their bored children during the shop. Tony had watched the scene with a smile on face.

That would be them, one day. One day soon.

"I mean, I've seen a lot of death," Tony said.

He had been a cop for nearly a decade, then a federal agent for fifteen years. Toward the end of his career, seeing a dead body had become pretty much a weekly occurrence. He had seen people taken far too young. People who had gotten caught up in the wrong thing, or in the crossfire, and people who died heroically defending the greater good.

His Dad stayed quiet. Moving the items from the bags to the kitchen counter. He had found the boxes of crackers, and looked them up and down.

Tony had brought dozens of boxes. Ziva's misnamed morning sickness was still in the manageable stages, but Tony wondered what was to come. Ziva had become pretty averse to anything that was not beige, and did not come in a packet.

"But, this time it was kinda peaceful," Tony said, his voice softening. "Every other death I've seen has been violent, but Schmeil was at peace with what was happening. It was his time, and he had accepted that."

Tony slid the milk into the shelf in the fridge door.

"It was kinda like he went to sleep," Tony said.

He had called Ducky a few times, not caring about the cost of international roaming. During his long afternoon walks, through Schmeil's retirement community. Ducky had explained what was to come in terms of physical reactions, and talked about the philosophy of death.

Senior coughed slightly.

"That's the ideal isn't it?" Senior said. "To go peacefully, after you've lived a great life."

Tony nodded. He had never really allowed himself to picture his own death.

During his years as a cop, and later an agent he had always imagine he would go down fighting. Defending the greater good, or saving someone. He had only thought about it in earnest when he had come within moments of death. There had been so many times where death had swooped close, nearly getting him.

He and Ziva had talked about their own deaths only a couple of times. When they had redone their wills because of their changed jobs and impending nuptials, the conversation had been brief, and slightly awkward. They had come to a few conclusions; neither of them wanted to be kept alive by machines, Ziva wanted a Jewish funeral, and Tony wanted someone to play Sinatra's My Way at his funeral. All had been agreed upon, and they had never spoken of death again.

They hoped death would not come for a long time.

"Yeah," Tony said. "Guess so."

He stuffed another bag into the master bag of canvas bags. The counter almost completely clear.

"When it's my time," Senior started. "I want that. To die peacefully, not being kept alive by machines. To have said goodbye to all the important people."

Tony felt a gnawing feeling in his gut. He couldn't take another loss. The black suit he had worn to the funeral had been too tight. He needed more time, before it got another outing.

"You're okay, right?" Tony asked. "Like healthwise."

Senior nodded.

"Healthy as a horse," Senior replied. "Doctor had to double check my date of birth, at my last physical."

Tony had received a pamphlet about losing weight, and drinking less, at his last physical. Especially, when he mentioned to his doctor that he and Ziva were looking to start a family.

"Do you think Mom had a peaceful death?" Tony asked, again after a few moments of quiet.

He watched as Senior averted his eyes flitting around the room, before looking out to the garden. A few years ago, the conversation would have never have gotten this far, and even now the conversation was still a rocky road.

"I hope so," Senior said. His voice cracking. "I know she wanted it to be. I didn't really advocate for her. I didn't know how. I do know that they gave her a lot of drugs in the end, she wouldn't have been in pain."

Tony stood quietly for a second. Taking in his father's words.

"I remember watching Angels with Dirty Faces with her," Tony said, his mouth dry. "She was really tired. A nurse came in. She turned off the monitor by her bed, and I begged her not to turn of the tv. She promised she wouldn't. Then both Mom and I went to sleep, but she didn't wake up."

Senior swallowed thickly. His face heavy, and eyes glassy. He looked older than his age.

"The nurse had figured out what was about to happen," Senior said. His glassy eyes bulging. "That's why they turned off the monitor by her bed, so the beeping didn't freak you out."

Tony nodded. Kicking himself for not realising that earlier. How many times had he replayed the memories in his head.

"You were there?" Tony asked.

Every time he went over this scene, he never remembered his father. Just the nurse, whose face he could never quite picture, and the film.

"I was in the hallway, with a bottle of scotch," Senior said. Shame all of her face, personified by red cheeks. "I thought we had longer, but the disease moved quickly. The didn't have the same medicine back then. I wasn't ready."

Tony felt a sickly feeling rush through him. He was eight years old again, waking up in a dark room. His mother still warm, but not responsive. A nurse rushing into his room as he started to cry out. It had been the nurse, who picked him up from the bed, and wrapped her arms around him.

The nurses hug had been warm, but she had not been the comfort he wanted.

"I should have been," Senior said softly. "It wasn't about me."

"No," Tony said. "It wasn't."

Father and son were quiet. Tony put all the boxes of crackers in the pantry. Senior started to move around the dining nook. Picking up his cellphone, and his wallet. He was about to go.

The conversation had gotten to close to the bone.

"I'm gonna make some eggs for breakfast," Tony declared.

He wanted to keep Senior in the house. Their conversation had hit a roadblock, but they could move through it.

"I'm not that hungry," Senior replied. Tony could see the lie on his face.

"I know it's closer to lunch time," Tony replied. "But, maybe if I start cooking Ziva will wake up.. Anyway, you looked after the house, and played taxi driver, I owe you more than breakfast."

Senior raised his eyebrows.

"You don't owe me a thing, it's what families do" Senior replied, using the line that Tony had used when Senior moved into Tony's apartment. "Ziva seems pretty tired."

Tony nodded.

"She is," Tony replied. "Omelette okay?"

Tony started collecting the ingredients and utensils to make breakfast, darting around the kitchen, and opening cupboards.

Since, they moved into the house the kitchen had been Ziva's domain. Not because of gender roles, but because Ziva liked to cook. She tended to do the weekday cooking, and the two of them would make time to cook together during the weekend. Judging by Ziva's recent food aversions, which had made meal service on the plane a nightmare, he would be spending a lot more time in the kitchen.

"I gotta ask Junior, what's with all the crackers?" Senior asked. "I didn't see any cheese."

"They were on sale," Tony said with a shrug. Trying to come off casual. He wanted to tell Senior so badly, but it was still so early.

"You're not supposed to go to the store hungry," Senior said.

"I know that now," Tony replied.

Tony finally found the pan, and took it out of the cupboard. He placed it on the cook top, and looked for the cooking oil.

"Before you get started," Senior said, pulling out his phone. "I want to show you this."

Tony left the pan on the cooktop, and walked across the kitchen to his Dad.

His Dad pulled up details of a winery, beer, and whiskey tour in Virginia, not that far from where Tony and Ziva had gotten married. It was beautiful up there.

"I got you this for your birthday," Senior said, with a smile. "It was one of those internet coupons, for the second weekend of August."

Tony's mouth felt dry. The DiNozzo men were not big gift givers.

"Dad, that must have been really expensive," Tony declared. He looked at the webpage, and tried to estimate the price of the tour. It would have been a lot of money for someone on social security.

"I had the money," Senior replied. "It's for two, so you and Ziva could go. One of the places on the tour has a bed and breakfast, so you two could make a weekend of it. I figured you two need a weekend away"

Tony kept a smile on his face, but thought about what Ziva would do, while he sampled some of Northern Virginia's finest artisan wine, beer and spirits. Usually, this type of gift would be perfect for them, the type of thing they always said they wanted to do, but never did. They tried to gift each other experiences rather than things.

In any other year, the gift would have been ideal.

"Thanks Dad," Tony said. "Maybe, the two of us can go. We could make it a father and son trip."

Senior nodded slowly. His mouth formed a half smile.

They always said they should go on more trips together.

"I'm too old for that stuff," Senior said. "You kids have fun."

Tony kept the smile plastered on. Maybe, he could take Abby, though she might ask why Ziva was not going. Maybe, he could the coupon to the McCouple for an engagement present.

"We will," Tony said.

"I'll send you the internet coupon," Senior said.

He smirked as his Dad said internet coupon. Senior was more like Ducky than Gibbs in terms of adapting to technology, but sometimes Tony had to remind himself that television was not even invented with his father was born.

"Thanks," Tony said, as he moved back into the kitchen.

He found the cooking oil, poured it in the pan, and started to fry off the eggs for the omelette.

He heard some noise coming from upstairs. The flushing of the toilet. Then some quiet, and the flushing of the toilet again.

He thought of the crackers. Maybe, he should leave Senior with breakfast, and go and check on Ziva.

"I sent the link to the bed and breakfast too," Senior said. He was squinting at his phone. Tony felt his own phone buzz in the the pocket of his pants.

"Thanks Dad," Tony said. "I'll show Ziva when she gets up."

There were some creaks from upstairs.

"She's been asleep a while," Senior said again. "Are you sure she's okay?"

Tony sighed.

"She's tired," Tony said again. "She didn't really sleep on the plane. Did I tell you we got bumped up to business class?"

The flight had been much better because of the business class, Tony had enjoyed the free drinks and extra leg room. Ziva had called in a favour, with one of Schmeil's old friends who worked at El Al to get them into business class.

"Yeah," Senior said, his voice drifting away, before perking back up. "Wait, it all makes sense now."

"What does, Dad?" Tony asked, as he put the omelette on the plate.

"Ziva's sleeping a lot, you brought all these crackers, and you don't want to take her on a winery tour," Senior listed. "Ziva's pregnant, isn't she?"

Tony let out a slight laugh. His Dad had cracked the case, before Tony had to worry about spilling the beans.

He turned off the gas on the cooktop.

"Sorry Junior, I know you two were trying," Senior continued. His voice lower, laced with sadness. It was drifting out again. "I just thought it had worked. Wishful thinking I guess."

Senior had mistaken Tony's laughter for a no.

"Dad, you're right," Tony said, a smile on his face. "We found out when we were in Israel. It's still really early. We weren't going to tell anyone yet."

Senior moved from the otherside of the kitchen, getting closer.

"But, you guessed," Tony said. "So, yeah Dad you're gonna be a Grandpa."

Senior stood in front of Junior with his arms open.

"A baby," Senior whispered. A smile had exploded on his face. His eyes were bright. "Oh, Junior."

This was joy. Pure joy.

"Yeah," Tony said, letting out a breath. "If everything happen like it's supposed to. We're gonna have a baby."

Senior's smile sat stubbornly on his face.

"A baby," Senior repeated, as he wrapped his arms around Tony.

Tony felt a warmth in his stomach. His father's excitement was infectious. Tony felt the love from his father, the love he hoped to pass onto his child.

"Are you excited?" Senior asked as he pulled apart.

"Yeah," Tony said. "Really excited. Ziva's a bit nervous. She thought that we would have to do treatments, so it was a surprise."

Senior nodded. He had been there in the aftermath of last time. Tony had been the one to tell Senior what had happened, when he arrived home from Monaco.

 _Dad, Ziva was pregnant_ , Tony had said in Ziva's tiny apartment. _Was_ , Senior had asked before realising what Tony was saying. Then he wrapped his arms around his son. Holding him tight. Ziva had joined them not long after. The three of them had stood still in that tiny room. Sniffling.

Ziva was so convinced it was going to end up like last time.

"What good news," Senior declared. He was bouncing with joy.

"It is," Tony said as he moved back to the food.

There was creaking on the stairs, and a few minutes later Ziva appeared in the kitchen.

She was rubbing her mouth, with her bare wrist. Her hair had been pulled into a messy bun, and he face pale. It seemed that her bladder and her stomach had woken her up. She pulled her robe tighter, when she noticed Senior.

Before she could say anything Senior wrapped his arms around her.

Tony watched as her eyebrows rose, and face screwed up. Confusion. She opened her mouth, but did not say anything.

"Dad knows," Tony said, filling in the blanks. "Or rather he guessed."

Senior got off of Ziva, and she moved toward the dining table, with careful steps. She pressed her fingers over her nose. Maybe, father and son would have brunch on the deck.

"It's wonderful news," Senior said. His smile holding firm. "Really wonderful."

Tony grabbed some crackers from the pantry, and some water from the fridge. He placed them on the table. She took a careful sip of water.

"It is," Ziva replied. A huge smile on her face.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Thanks for all of the love. I owe so many review replies. I hope to get the next chapter up next week.

We will have a couple of chapters focusing on the early stages of pregnancy. Ziva is going to struggle for a while.

They'll tell the extended family soon.

Thanks again.


	10. Moments Made From Fear

Tony let out a sigh of relief, as he walked into his house. It had been a stinkin' hot day, and the short walk from the garage to the cool air conditioning of the house, had caused him to break out into a sweat.

"Ziva," he called, as he dumped his backpack on one of the dining chairs. He looked over the table, Ziva's smaller backpack was sitting on the table, and her keys were next to it. It was a Monday, she usually worked later on Monday, so she could leave early on Friday, but her car had been in the garage.

He walked through to the living room, and saw a Ziva sized lump on the couch. Hair matted to her paler than usual face. She usually got so tanned in the summer months.

The scene in his living room told him one thing. Today had been a bad day.

A very bad day.

"Hey," he said, as he moved closer to her.

She blinked at him. Careful blinks. He noticed the bucket on the floor next to her. The bucket that had moved from the garage to the house, the previous weekend when the morning sickness had peaked. She had spent the entire weekend moving between the bed and bathroom.

He had felt so helpless listening as she wretched. At first he tried to help her, rubbing her back when she threw up but she sent him away. Needing space. He had spent the weekend, bringing her crackers, water, and set up movies on her laptop, which she always fell asleep halfway through.

He had tried to suggest that Ziva take a couple of days off of work, to recover, but Ziva had refused. She was new at the job, and did not want to look like a bad employee. Nor did she want to let down the people who queued from the small hours to get help from the centre.

"How you feeling?" he asked.

She frowned. He had asked the worst question, in the history of bad questions.

"Better," she said. Her voice hoarse. It was most definitely a lie.

"Did you last the whole day?" he asked.

She shook her head. Then closed her eyes. It seemed to help with the nausea.

Ziva had started her contract at the asylum seeker resource center, the Monday after she they had returned to D.C. The job had proved as useful distraction, and she came home both tired and fulfilled. Sometimes she shared stories of the clients, who visited the center. Many of the stories were remarkable feats of courage, stories that should be in the movies but were too harrowing. People who had walked for days to get to safety. People who had lost everyone, but were rebuilding their lives.

It was Ziva's job to direct the asylum seekers to services that may help them throughout the DC metro area. She helped people with the resumes, explain what could be bought with food stamps and to understand pharmacy instructions. Four afternoons a week, she also taught an English as a second language class. The centre was only a few years old, and was transitioning from almost solely volunteers to paid positions. Much of the work Ziva did, had previously been done by the founder of the centre. This meant Ziva's role was fluid, and her responsibilities changed often. The previous week, she had helped fill in funding applications.

He rubbed her wrist.

Tony felt a pang of deja vu. They had the same conversation two years ago, except Ziva had been taking classes rather than teaching them.

"I got sent home," she said. Her eyes still closed. "I was supposed to teach this afternoon."

He hoped it would not end up like last time. All this suffering, only be compounded by a worse suffering.

"I had to tell Thida," Ziva said. She took a deep breath in.

Thida was Ziva's boss, a refugee from Cambodia, who had come to the US over two decades ago as a young child after being born in a Thai refugee camp. While, she had thrived her mother who had been older had floundered. Thida along with other colleagues had started the ASRC for those who were struggling. Tony had listened over the last few weeks, as Ziva spoke of her boss with awe. He had joked, that Ziva was a little bit in love with her. Ziva might not be in love with her boss, but was definitely in love with her work.

"Okay," he said. "What did she say?"

Ziva pulled herself up on the couch, and reached across to the coffee table.

She grabbed the plastic bottle of gatorade, and put it to her lips. She had gone through gallons of the stuff over the weekend. Some of their glasses were stained with the blue of the sports drink. It gave Tony flashbacks of his college basketball days.

"She is happy for us," Ziva said, as she held the bottle in her hands. "But, I was not planning on telling people so soon."

They had just hit nine weeks. The pregnancy was not yet noticeable to the untrained eye. If Ziva wore a tight top, there was a bloat, but to the uninitiated, it might look like she had enjoyed too much ice cream. However, perhaps out of habit from living in a warmer climate, and having to conceal a weapon, she tended to prefer a more baggy fit when she wore blouses. Especially, when it was so hot.

"She probably had her suspicions," Tony said, as he watched her drain the bottle. "I mean not many people schedule two dentists appointments within starting a new job."

Ziva had a doctors appointment which officially confirmed the pregnancy within their first week back from Israel. She had tried to schedule the appointment for early morning for before work, but the appointments had ran late that day. The pregnancy had been confirmed, and Ziva's HCG levels were normal unlike last time. Everything looked healthy.

Ziva was still so fearful of a miscarriage.

The next appointment was the following week, where they would finally hear the heartbeat. Tony had booked the day for that appointment as well. His colleague Dan had raised his eyebrow when Tony had said he was going to a dentist appointment. Dan, was one of the few colleagues Tony was close to, as they were a similar age. Dan had been a former ATF agent, who had been injured on the field. Dan was recently separated from his wife, and a had son who was in Pre-K. He and Tony kept making plans to carpool to work, as Dan now lived a little further out, but their plans never quite panned out.

"I know," Ziva said. "It is just so early."

Tony nodded.

Last time they had made it to ten weeks and six days. Tony knew that because of the stupid app on his phone, which had buzzed the morning after the miscarriage informing him that the baby was now size of a fig, as it was now eleven weeks. Tony had smothered his phone with his pillow.

It had been a cruel kick in the guts. One that had left scars.

Maybe Ziva would be more excited, when they passed eleven weeks. Once they had heard the heartbeat. One she was sure the baby was not going away.

He hoped that the dark clouds would lift soon, the rainbow was trying to peak through.

"Still," Tony said, as Ziva handed him the gatorade bottle. It was empty, with a drip of blue on the sports lid. There was another empty bottle at the other end of the table. Tony would have to go out for some more. "It's good that she knows."

She leaned over, her head floating above the bucket. She started retching. A dry retch.

Tony sat there. Feeling useless.

Eventually, she stopped, rubbed her mouth, and laid back on the couch. Beads of sweat formed on her head.

The bucket was empty except for some spit.

Apparently, an overproduction of saliva was a product of the hormones.

"I will not get maternity leave," Ziva said as she adjusted her position slightly. Her back was flat, and she looked up at the ceiling. The ceiling fan whirred. Ziva looked away.

She closed her eyes for a long time.

"Did your boss tell you that?" Tony asked.

He had never really looked into maternity leave, mostly because of his gender, and because of his unmarried status until a year ago. Even last time Ziva was pregnant, he had not really given it much thought.

"No," Ziva said, taking little breaths between words. "But, I am on a contract, and the organisation does not have to offer FMLA because it only has four paid staff members."

Tony knew that maternity leave was unpaid, but had been a federal employee for so long, that it had never really occurred to him that people would not be eligible for it. He had seen a few people at NCIS go off on maternity leave, but had not really known them well enough to ask them about it.

"Okay," he said. The baby actually being here, still seemed so far away. "You said they like you. Maybe you can work something out with them."

Ziva nodded. Still quiet.

"We'll be okay," Tony murmured.

Ziva opened her eyes. A confused look on her pale face.

"Financially," Tony said, his voice firm. "We can afford maternity leave, and if it's longer than three months we can do that too."

He would not be like his Dad, dodging debt collectors, and making bad deals. He would provide for his family. Honestly.

Ziva took in a deep breath. Then let it out.

She was probably about to blast him. They were firmly in the middle class, earning more than enough to live comfortably. Ziva's income was mainly spending money, though they had told themselves they would save it. As long as he did not lose his job, they would float along nicely. Even, if they did they had enough money for a few months thanks to Eli's impressive investment portfolio.

He knew his money worries were irrational. Born from years of cleaning up his Dad's money messes.

"We can talk about it later," Ziva said, her voice more of croak. "Closer to the time."

He nodded. Ziva had touted that line dozens of times over the last few weeks, when he started talking about the baby. He had also heard her say, _when it's safe_ , and the most heartbreaking _when we know for sure it is happening._

"I want to start telling people," Tony said, after a few minutes of quiet. "And, I want to start talking about the baby. I know your scared about what happened last time. I know your not feeling well, but it's hard to be the only one who is excited. I mean we're married, we were trying for this baby, I don't understand why you're treating this baby like its a secret."

He had imploded.

Ziva looked at him. Her mouth open, but she made no noise.

"You have told people," Ziva said. Sounding petty.

"Dad guessed," Tony replied, taking a calming breath. "I just confirmed his guess. Technically, you've told two people now."

He could feel himself getting petty.

"One of those people was dying," Ziva said. Her voice raising. "And one of them was my boss, because I nearly threw up on her."

Ziva pulled herself up on the couch. Sitting up. She gripped the armrest.

"Fine," he said. "I know I'm being irrational now. I know I'm overreacting. I know it's really not the time. It's just whenever I try to talk about the baby, you just shut down."

Tony often showed Ziva links of things he had found, while idly messing around on the internet. A baby monitor with a camera. A cute coming home outfit. A stroller with jogging wheels, so Ziva could take baby for long walks. He knew how much she liked to get outside. She had acknowledged the links, but then changed the topic of conversation. She had suddenly become an expert on the weather.

"I do not want to get attached," Ziva said. "It is still so early."

They were at nine weeks and three days. They were getting closer to the second trimester. To the safe zone. This baby seemed to be sticking around.

"That worked so well last time," Tony muttered. There was still some fire left in this fight.

Ziva's eyes widened. He had cut close to the bone, way to close.

He had lit the fire, and been the one who got burnt.

"Exactly," Ziva said, her voice falling. "Last time it hurt. It hurt so much. I cannot do that again."

Her lip quivered. Tears.

Tony felt his heart sink.

"Every time I go to the bathroom, I am scared of what might be there," Ziva said, her voice shaky.

A tear feel down her face.

"Last time, I got too comfortable," Ziva said, running her hand under her nose. "I thought that because the morning sickness had stopped, that it was okay. I started to get excited, and I had gone to get the paperwork to organise my degree. Then it got taken away. I went to the bathroom and there was blood."

The cruelness of the situation, had been that Ziva's morning sickness had stopped right on ten weeks because the pregnancy was fading away. The hormones were flushing out of her system, no longer needed. She had gotten comfortable, as the pregnancy was in trouble.

"It didn't happen because you got comfortable," Tony said. His voice softer. Kinder.

The anger had dissipated, like a wave breaking on the shore.

"I know that on an intellectual level," Ziva said, "But, that does not stop this fear. Every time I go to the bathroom that fear is there, just for a second."

Tony felt his heart sink into his stomach.

"Why didn't you tell me all of this?" Tony asked.

They were supposed to share secrets. They were married now.

"You are already so excited," Ziva said rubbing under her eye with her bent finger. "And, I keep expecting it to get better. There are little moments, where I start to get excited, but then I always get pulled back. Do you remember that family in the airport lounge?"

While, they had been waiting for their plane out of Tel Aviv, they had been sitting close to a little family. Two parents, who appeared to be religious by their head coverings, and a little baby dressed in blue. They had been doting parents, taking turns to settle the small tyke. He had watched as Ziva had watched, a soft smile on her face.

He moved closer to her on the couch.

"I watched them, and started thinking that will be us soon," Ziva said softly. "You said you wanted to take the baby to Israel, and I started to wonder if the baby would be a good flyer, or fussy."

Tony nodded. The parents and their kid, had been in the premium economy seats, behind business class. The kids wails had kept the whole plane awake. One of the other passengers had made a killing by selling off his sleeping pills.

"Then I felt this cramp," Ziva said softly. "It was not the same pain as last time, but for a moment it was all I could think about. That's why I rushed off."

Tony remembered, when she had suddenly bolted upright. Asking if he was hungry as she walked back to the food court. She appeared twenty minutes later, with a bottle of gatorade and a packaged cookie for him. Her eyes had been red from tears. He thought it was to do with Schmeil. He had asked her if she was okay, but she had brushed it off.

"Are you talking to anyone, about this?" he asked.

He could not bear to see her get so distressed.

She shook her head.

Why wasn't she talking to him about this?

"It will pass," she said quickly.

God, he hoped it would.

A dark thought slipped into his head. Schmeil would have been the person she talked to about this. He was the only one who had her confidences. The only one she could be completely honest with.

"I asked the doctor about the risks," Ziva said. Looking away from him. "She could not give me an answer."

He remembered last time, in those weeks after the miscarriage. She had been so desperate for answers. Desperate to know why it had happened. Desperate to know what she had done to cause it.

It had not been her fault. No matter who told her that, she still did not believe them.

She was so certain, the baby had been taken away, to make up for previous sins.

"I want to be excited like you are," Ziva said looking back at him. "To be one of those women who enjoy pregnancy."

She had been miserable, these first few weeks. Physically, she was exhausted and nauseated. Mentally, she was anxious and grief stricken.

"Wouldn't blame you for not enjoying it, right at this moment," he said softly.

She smiled. A slight smile.

The rainbow after the storm.

"I'll talk about it less," Tony said. Offering an olive branch. "Until you are ready."

He could not keep pulling them along, when she was pushing back. He wanted them to be excited together.

"No," Ziva said shaking her head. "It hurts, but I cannot bury my head in the beach."

"In the sand," he replied. "Been a while since you've had a Ziva-ism."

"I have been here so long," she declared. Over a decade now. She had made a life here. A home. A baby. "My English is better than my Hebrew."

Schmeil had kept Hebrew alive for her. While, she could go to synagogue and here Hebrew, but the religious Hebrew, was not the same as the day-to-day Hebrew she had been raised in.

"When your father worked it all out, he was so happy," Ziva said softly. "I could see this happiness even before you told me what was going on. I want to be happy about this."

"He was wasn't he," Tony said.

Senior had sent him dozens of links over the last few weeks. Pretty baby outfits from an expensive store, that had a flagship store in Alexandria. Sometimes, Ziva lusted over its window display, especially at Christmastime.

"I tried to fake it, especially with your father," Ziva admitted. "That is the saying is, yes."

Tony rubbed her wrist. Trying to comfort both of them.

The previous Friday Senior had arrived at their house for their usual Friday dinner, and found Ziva kneeling in front of the toilet in the half bath behind the kitchen. He had been the one who had helped Ziva to bed, and called Tony as he was driving home. Senior had started on a easy pasta meal, while opening all the doors and windows so the smell did not linger. By the time, Tony came home Ziva was asleep, and Senior had made enough food for the neighbourhood.

"Please don't fake it," Tony said softly. "I prefer us being honest with each other."

Honesty. They had promised each other that, long before their wedding.

"Can we wait a little longer before we start telling more people?" she asked, after a few quiet seconds. "Just until I am further along, until it is safe."

Her logic about not telling people, had serious holes. Last time, all of their loved ones had found out after the miscarriage, but they had still surrounded the couple with love. If the universe was cruel, and took this baby away from them, he was sure their family would surround them again.

He hoped when they told the family this time, it was a joyful occasion.

"Whatever you need," he murmured.

They were not expecting to see the wider family, for a few weeks. Technically, the Friday Night dinners were open to all, but between their jobs, and their friends busy lives, weeks easily passed without seeing them face to face. His Dad was the only guaranteed attendee.

The last time that everyone in their makeshift family, including his Dad, Breena and Delilah had been together under the same roof, had been when Ziva held a Passover seder in their dining room. It had been rather lite on the Jewish stuff with Breena ending up reading out the four questions as she was the youngest of their little group by a few months. Though technically Breena was reading on behalf of sixteen month old Tori who was on her lap.

Tony kept meaning to invite McGee out for a few drinks to check in and ask how the wedding preparations were going, but the MCRT were currently going through a spike in cases. The heat seemed to give people short fuses.

He had thought about inviting Abby to the winery tour Senior had gotten him for his birthday, but that would require explaining why Ziva could not go. It seemed as the weekend got closer, that Senior had latched onto the idea of a father-son weekend anyway.

Tony still worried about leaving a sickly Ziva home alone.

Ziva had also been distant from their extended family. She had for obvious reasons, not joined Ellie and Breena for their weekly Krav Maga training. Her new job was in Silver Spring, so far enough away from the Navy Yard, which meant she did not have to avoid lunch dates.

There were daily texts,and regular conversations of the long running messenger app they all used, but family were overdue for a in person catch up. Maybe, when they did see each other face to face, they would share their good news.

She moved away from him, and reached across the coffee table for some water. The water bottle was yet another thing littering their usually clear coffee table. She took a few tentative sips of water.

The waves were back. Tony watched as she took the careful sips.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She looked at him. Not saying anything. She took a few careful breaths, trying to soften the waves. The sea was getting choppy.

"For overreacting," he added.

She nodded.

"I am sorry too," Ziva replied, her voice hoarse. Before she could say anything more, her hand reached for her mouth.

Tony picked up the bucket and placed it under her.

She retched. Then the smell of vomit filled the room. The actual vomit ended up only in the bucket, not that Tony was above cleaning up vomit. He figured he needed the practice. Jimmy had told him that the first year of parenthood, was just dealing with the kids bodily fluids.

"I'm really sorry for this," Tony said, as she came up for air. "If I could do pregnancy, I would."

She moved away from the smell which made her feel more sick. He picked up the bucket and moved it away. He would clean it out soon. He made a mental note grab a wet washcloth for Ziva, when he returned. He had read that one of the Daddy-to-be websites he now frequented, that the wet towels sometimes helped morning sickness. Or at least to help the one throwing up to feel less yucky.

"You would be a whiny mess," Ziva declared, before taking another sip of water.

"You betcha," he replied, as he got up to clean out the bucket.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

I know the Ziva being anxious storyline might be getting old, but remember our girl has been through a lot.

The next chapter will focus on similar feelings, but moving forward. We'll have a few more chapters of early pregnancy.

Thanks again for all the love.


	11. The Rainbow After The Storm

Ziva watched as Senior waved from the sidewalk. The old man had his sunglasses firmly on, disguising a hangover. A weekender bag slung over Seniors shoulder. Senior blew Ziva a kiss, and walked through the doors of the apartment building.

"Your father looks like a movie star," Ziva muttered.

Tony let out a groan from the passenger seat. He too was nursing a hangover. Not quite as bad as Seniors.

"He looks like he stepped out the Kentucky Derby," Tony declared.

Ziva got one last look. Senior in beige linen suit. The blazer slung over a his forearm. His pink shirt with its sleeves rolled up to the elbow. A straw fedora on his head.

Ziva laughed. A loud laugh that filled the whole car. A loose curl fell around her face.

It was early August, so the thick humidity of a DC summer, meant she seldom let her hair down. Usually, the humidity was bearable, but the pregnancy had made her sensitive to heat.

The pregnancy, had made her sensitive to a lot of things.

"Very handsome," Ziva said, licking her lips for emphasis.

Tony lifted his aviator sunglasses up over his eyes, and rolled his eyes. He had opted for a more casual outfit; shorts, a short sleeved shirt, and boat shoes.

Ziva let out another laugh, and moved her own sunglasses from the top of her head to her eyes. She started the car again. Tony grimaced as she revved the engine.

"Careful," Tony said gripping the handle above the window.

He was always like this with his car. It was a sensible sedan brought after Ilan Bodnar had crashed into his. During, the early years of their relationship Tony lamented about the sensible vehicle, he had nicknamed the dweebmobile. Now, it fitted in with their suburban life. She had caught Tony measuring the backseat for an infant car seat.

There had been talk about Ziva giving him the zippy little sports car she had brought after her father's death, as it had been Tony's car that had been totaled in the car crash. The red convertible had been great fun to drive, but impractical. That too had been replaced by a sensible second hand hatchback. The hatchback had been seldom used until the move to the suburbs.

They drove down a wide boulevard watching as the apartment buildings got further away from the Potomac, and shorter.

"Your father seems very excited about the baby," Ziva said.

Ziva had started to feel little moments of excitement to. Since, they had moved past eleven weeks, and seen the ultrasound. The fog had started to lift. The anxiety had eased.

This would not be like last time.

The morning sickness, was also starting to lighten. Mornings were still difficult, but she and Tony had developed a system to manage it. She still mainlined Gatorade and crackers, but had not been sent home from work again.

She was starting to feel like herself.

"He is," Tony said with a smile.

The three of them had spent the entire weekend together. Senior had stayed over after Friday night dinner. Tony had cooked because Ziva still had some aversions. Plus, Ziva rather enjoyed watching Tony cook. A tea towel slung over his shoulder and a proud look on his face.

The three of them had eaten on the deck, enjoying the new patio set Tony had finally put together. Since, they had returned from Israel, Tony had thrown himself into house renovations as a way to keep busy, and wanting to prepare for the baby. Senior had polished off a bottle of wine by himself, as the dark came and the crickets chirped. He had waxed soliloquies about being a grandpa.

"He told me that he's gonna be the best grandpa," Tony said.

Ziva watched Tony's face. Tight lips.

"Do you think he will be?" Ziva asked.

She had permitted herself to start to imagine the baby this pregnancy would produce.

Would it look more like her, or more like him?

"I hope so," Tony said rubbing his face with his hand. "I really hope so."

A huge SVU aggressively overtook the car in front of them, causing a barrage of horns.

Ziva hung back. They were in no rush, and she was carrying precious cargo.

"What did you go, yesterday?" Tony asked. Desperate to change the subject. "While, Dad and I were on the tour."

When Senior had presented Tony with the wine tour gift, the original plan had been for father and son to enjoy the weekend together. Then, when the all-day morning sickness had started Tony had offered to cancel his weekend, not comfortable on leaving Ziva alone. Eventually, as the sickness started to soften it had been planned that Ziva would go with them. She would hang around in the BnB on the Saturday afternoon.

"Can't have been much fun for you," Tony said.

They had arrived at the bed and breakfast for midday, and had paid for early check in. Tony had insisted on carrying their weekend bags all the way to the room, as Ziva was not supposed to carry heavy object. Ziva had settled in for a nap, exhausted from the drive. Tony had changed, and offered to send Senior on the tour by himself. Ziva had smiled, and sent him off, assuring him that she would call if she needed him.

"I had a good afternoon," she declared. "The view from our room was beautiful."

Their room had been an attic room, with eaved ceilings. Tony had been almost as tall as the doorway. The room looked out onto the vineyard. Ziva had found herself thinking of Israel. Of the olive groves.

They would take the baby there one day, like Tony had said. Ziva could picture herself balancing a squirmy child on her hip, and feeding them their first fresh olives.

"It was," Tony replied. "Did you do some exploring? Didn't they have berry picking?"

Ziva had spent the last few weekends in bed. She barely made it through the workdays, and tried to catch up with sleep on the weekend. The exhaustion still ran through to her bones. She had hated being so weak, and feeling so lazy.

The bed and breakfast had a berry pick your own berry patch to the west of the house. The vineyard also had an open patch for people to walk around, where she had seen a couple taking engagement photographs. They had been so happy.

Ziva had made noises about going up there before settling in for a nap, but ended up never leaving the bed and breakfast.

"No," Ziva said. "After my nap, I did some reading, and sat by the pool."

Reading had been a welcome distraction. During the worst of the sickness, reading had made her dizzy which only made the nausea worse.

It had made work nearly impossible. Especially, as except for her boss, her pregnancy was still a secret.

"I can't believe that place had a pool," Tony said.

The pool had been an obvious retrofit to the colonial style bed and breakfast, added to appeal to families. The pool had been covered, by a glass structure which looked like a huge greenhouse.

It took Ziva thirty minutes after waking up from her nap, to get to the pool. She had debated having another nap, knowing she would be tired later, but wanting to capitalize on her burst of energy. Slowly, she had noticed the growing heat in the attic room, and decided to cool off.

Her swimsuit had been tight on her stomach, and as she pulled it on she had again debated going. She was not obviously pregnant, but had a bloat even though she had thrown up her body weight over the last few weeks.

Her body did not feel like her own. She was used to having so much control, used to pushing her body to almost breaking point. She was struggling with the sudden almost daily changes; her breasts were sore and growing, her hips ached, and she felt so weak.

The last time she had been so out of control of her body, had been such a dark time. She had been in that dusty cell, at the mercy of those vicious men.

She could not go back there now. Now, was a happy time. She would not let those memories steal her happiness.

"It was quiet," Ziva said. "Just me and another woman with her baby."

A slight smile crossed Tony's face, when she mentioned babies, and small children. He was so excited. So ready.

That would be them soon.

"The baby must have been a couple of months younger than Tori," Ziva said.

Tori Palmer was the yardstick, they used to measure all babies. They had spent so little time with kids before.

The little child in the pool, had been a pale child. Dressed in a blue bucket hat, and a rash guard with a duck on the front, because the sun was still glaring through the glass roof. His mother was equally pale, her ancestor probably hailed from a northern European land.

Tony bit his lip. He knew what she was getting at.

Tori Palmer was a couple of months older than their first baby would have been.

"I was so certain that this time would be like last time," Ziva said.

They would thirteen weeks at the end of the week. They were nearly a third of the way there.

Tony's mouth opened and closed like a guppy. Not sure what to say.

"But, it is not," Ziva said.

When the sickness had eased off, she had been a bundle of anxiety. Anything could set alight the kindling. Last time, the morning sickness had stopped suddenly, a few days before she had found blood in her underwear.

The sticky sweat that came with the summer heat and raging hormones, was cruel. She feared that dampness of sweat that pooled in her underwear.

"I had been thinking a lot about that baby," Ziva continued. "About how, just when I was getting excited it was taken away."

This time would not be like last time.

"You getting excited didn't cause the miscarriage," Tony said.

He had said the same line to her, in various iterations in the years since it had happened.

"I know," she replied. "But, looking at that child in the pool I realised how different life would have been if we had that baby."

She most likely would not have graduated yet. They might not have married. The house would be a distant dream as they would not have the luxury of buying a fixer-upper. Even with her generous inheritance, they would not have been able to afford a move-in-ready house within reasonable driving distance from Tony's work on just Tony's income.

They would most likely not be having this baby.

"Yeah," Tony murmured. "It would be."

His hand reached across for her thigh. She was wearing the navy blue wrap dress she had worn for her graduation.

The dress was cut in that high low style that had become popular in recent years. It had a print of delicate flowers. Something that was much more traditionally feminine than she would usually wear. It had been brought in a rush a week before the graduation, having decided that her usual best dress was too thick for the June ceremony.

The dress had gotten more outings than initially planned. She had worn it twice to work in the last week. Her new job did not have a dress code, but she had dusted off her old blazers from her days as an NCIS agent.

The dress and blazer combination, made her thoughts drift out to her mother. To their apartment in the sky, and the snakeskin style wrap dress that lived in the back of her closet. It had been the first thing her mother had brought, when she finally had her own money, from a trendy boutique in Tel Aviv in the late seventies. It was an import from America, designed by a woman who had married into a European royal family. The dress, despite being dated always got an outing every few months, even it was only to work.

Ziva could always remember her mother beaming with confidence when she wore it.

Clothes maketh the man, or rather the woman.

"We probably would not be having this baby," Ziva uttered.

Tony blinked carefully.

"Probably not," Tony declared. "We have handled some crazy stuff, but I don't think we'd manage two under two."

One of their neighbours, who lived across the street had two under two. They had moved in just before the second baby had been born. More than once Ziva had seen the woman mere seconds from a breakdown as she tried to load both kids into the car. The boy who was the older child was prone to tantrums.

"I think I needed to let go of that baby," Ziva started. Her throat suddenly dry. "To let in this one."

Tony nodded. Ziva watched this from the rear view mirror. Tony's hand was clammy on her dress.

"I looked at that little boy in the pool, and started to wonder about this baby," Ziva finally said.

She had watched the mother and child from the pool. The little boy laughing as he splashed in the water. Ziva had let her hand touch her stomach.

Would the baby be a girl or a boy?

The woman had caught Ziva's gaze, and offered her a soft smile. An all knowing smile. Ziva knew her pregnancy was not yet obvious, but the woman's smile felt like a welcome.

 _Welcome to the club. It will be hard, but it will be so worth it._

"I am sorry it took me so long to get excited," Ziva said.

They turned off the interstate, and into to the suburbs. Ziva slowed her speed to below the limit. The local news had a story about near misses, with kids on bikes versus SUVs more than once, since the weather warmed.

"Don't apologise," Tony replied. "We both know that rule."

They had taken the best of Gibbs' rules, using for them for life, like Gibbs promised they were applicable for.

"David-DiNozzo rule number 6, always apologise if it's necessary," Ziva said.

They had made the David-DiNozzo rules during their summer together. It had been after they handed in their badges, but before Ziva had laid down her guns.

The rules had been written but but never revisited. They were unneeded. They already lived them.

"I'm pretty sure that's rule 5," he declared. "And, an apology isn't necessary."

Ziva smiled.

They inched closer to home. Ziva recognised the houses. Large garages. American flags hanging off the porch. The newer development they had looked into before finding their home. They could afford the houses, but both of them had wanted a house with more character.

"I would like to start sharing our news," Ziva said.

His face lit up. This was joy.

 _You must find the joy,_ had been Schmeil's parting words.

"Really?" Tony asked.

The houses got older. Once upon these homes had been part of a local village, now they were swallowed up by the suburban sprawl of the DC-Alexandria metro area.

"It will be hard to hide soon," Ziva declared. "And, Abby would never forgive us for hiding it."

Abby would be so excited. Ziva could already picture it. Abby bouncing with joy. Abby the excited Aunt with endless gifts. She was so in love with little Tori, and the love would be doubled not halved when baby DiNozzo arrived.

"Dads practically bursting," Tony said. "He's probably gonna let it slip pretty soon. We've been lucky everyone's been too busy for Friday dinner."

Ziva nodded. They were a block away from home.

There was an open invitation to Friday dinner, a way of Ziva and Tony trying to keep the family close now that neither of them worked for NCIS. The open invitation did not change the grueling eighty hour weeks, that the team still put in.

"I want to tell Gibbs privately," Ziva declared. "Before we tell everyone else."

Tony's eyebrow raised. Since, Tony had moved from the pumpkin walled NCIS office, to FLETC, their relationship had cooled. Senior had finally stepped up to the role, Tony had tried to put Gibbs into. Gibbs was the square shaped peg, being smashed into Senior's circle shaped hole, things did not fit right.

Gibbs had always been more of Ziva's anyway. He had walked her down the aisle at her wedding. She still tried to make time to see him. She had not seen him since she had returned from Israel.

She missed him.

"Okay," he said. His voice neutral. A forced neutrality.

They moved into their street. Ziva found herself slowing down. Their street during the summer, was always filled with kids. Little kids on tricycles. Strollers that took up the whole sidewalk. The neighbour with the two under two, walked with the older kid on a tricycle with a pole for her to hold, and the baby strapped to her chest.

When, they had driven down the street for the open home on a warm July day, they had asked the realtor if there was some sort of neighbourhood event. There had not been. That and the story of the previous owners had been what sold them.

The previous owners had been the second owners of the home ever. They had brought the home as newly weds forty years previously. They had brought their son home to the red brick colonial. The husband had run his successful plumbing business from the basement. The wife had been an elementary school teacher, who wrote children's books on the side from an office on the upper floor. The couple had converted the cramped 1930's colonial into a modern home, adding the sun porch and replacing the basement stairs. The couples son had moved in for a while, with his own wife and daughter when they found themselves priced out of the area.

The couple had sat on the house, as the area changed. The village developed into a suburb. As gentrification swept in. The couples son and his family, had settled in a warmer cheaper Texan city, and they had followed tired of the Northeast winters. Especially as the husband's health started to fail and two sets of stairs had gotten too much.

Tony had considered it a good omen. The house had lived the life they wanted. The good omen had blinded him from the easily-fixed cosmetic imperfections.

"I feel I should," Ziva said. "He is the closest thing I have-."

She did not finish the sentence, but Tony knew what she was getting at.

He was the closest thing she had to a father.

She and Gibbs got each other on a deep level. They knew the depths of sorrow. Ziva had crawled out the otherside, while Gibbs still seemed ready to be pulled under.

Tony coughed. The distance between Gibbs and Tony, hurt Tony even if he pretended not too.

They reached their house. Ziva moved down the driveway slowly.

Home. They were home. A warmth filled her. She was happy to be home.

"Okay," Tony replied. "Once, you've told him, we'll tell everyone else."

He did not understand her love for Gibbs, but he accepted it.

"How would you like to tell them?" She asked.

He shrugged. A lie.

"Dunno," he said.

He grabbed the fob from the drink holder. He pressed the button for the garage door.

The garage opened. Ziva drove forward, and parked next to her little hatchback. The garage door closed behind them, darkening the little garage.

"I saw you looking at those pregnancy announcements," Ziva said as they got out of the car.

The car doors slammed.

Tony moved to the trunk of the car, and collected both of their weekend bags, and her wide brimmed hat. Ziva was not supposed to carry more than ten pounds, but the bags were not that heavy.

He had spent the last few weeks looking into lots of different baby related things. He had looked into baby monitors with screens, and expensive cribs. She had also seen him reading an article showing off pregnancy announcements. Many had blackboards with a rhyming sentence written on them.

Everyone had looked so happy. Ziva had been desperate for just a piece of that happiness.

"You saw that," he said. "I thought you had fallen asleep."

He had looked up the announcements on the laptop they kept in the bedroom. She had used it during the worst of her sickness. Tony had started movies, which she fell asleep during. More than once, she woke up to find he had had comendered the laptop, and was busy. He liked to stay close when she was not feeling well, even when she tried to send him away.

He had been so caring and patient these last few weeks.

He was such a good man.

She had chosen a good man for a husband.

"Did you find some inspiration?" She asked.

They walked out into the garden through the side door on the garage. The grass was getting tall again. Tony would probably get the lawnmower out during the week.

"I dunno," he said, also looking out to the lawn, and probably thinking the same thing. "When Dad worked it all out, his face lit up. It makes me want to tell everyone in person."

Ziva stood still in the garden. It was lovely out here. They had only lived in the house since the previous November, having closed on it the week before the wedding. She had not gotten the chance to enjoy the garden during the summer, and only had a six weeks maximum before it got too cool.

Next year, she would bring the baby out here. Maybe, the baby would have a little bucket hat like the child in the pool.

Ziva imagined telling everyone about the pregnancy one by one. Jimmy and Breena would be the battle weary parents, ready to admit new members of the club. Abby would be the excited Aunt. McGee would just smile and looked to Delilah, maybe they would have a similar announcement in a few years.

"I was planning a party," Tony said, walking toward the back porch, and the house. "For your graduation."

Ziva felt a heaviness. Guilt.

"A surprise party," Tony said as they stepped into the tiny sun porch. Ziva's favourite reading spot, and the one place in the house Tony had let her have complete decorating control. She had covered the indoor/outdoor couch with bright cushions. Tony called the room the kasbah because so many of the cushions had Morrocan patterns. It was stark contrast to the mid century modern vibe they had gone for in the main house. "I know you don't really like surprises, but this would have been a good one. It just wanted to show you and everyone else, how proud I was of you."

So many of her surprises had been bad.

"I am learning to embrace them," Ziva said softly. "And, I know you are proud. I was so grateful for how you supported me during my degree."

She was so grateful for him.

"What else would I do?" he asked with a shrug. "I love you."

They walked into the house. Tony dumped the weekender bags, on the table. The dining table was so often a dumping ground, at first it annoyed her, and she spent hours looking up storage solutions, but she had learnt to accept it. The dining table had more than enough room.

Ziva felt a breeze of cool air. Glad, Tony had turned on the air conditioning from the road, with a few clicks on an app.

Ziva looked at the clock on the oven. It was late afternoon. She was tired, but ravenous. Dinner would be a quick affair.

"Maybe we could have that party," Ziva said. Imagining a full house. "It has been so long since we have seen everyone. Besides, if we tell one person it would be an hour before everyone else found out."

She missed them. They had sent kind words when Schmeil had died, and even weeks later check in on her. Ellie and Breena had been kind when Ziva declined to join them for their weekly krav maga sessions. They pried but did not push.

Tony turned to look at her. A smile on his face.

"I have been meaning to use that grill," Tony said.

The grill had been brought with the new patio set, with Tony deciding that he was one of those men who grilled steaks every weekend. Sometimes his ideal self got carried away. Ziva liked the idea of cooking taking place outside of the house. Her sense of smell was still much stronger than usual, and still triggered nausea.

Ziva wanted to fill the house with people. She wanted Tori's shrieks to fill the house. She wanted her friends to crowd around them. There would be so much love. This baby would know that love.

Ziva felt a dizziness. She gripped the table. She had been feeling so well, and had gotten arrogant. The drive had exhausted her.

She saw her face pale from her reflection in the window.

"I could practice tonight," he declared. He moved toward the fridge, searching for a makeshift dinner.

She had insisted on having a big kitchen, when they brought the house. She had visions of grand meals, and hours spent slaving over her creations. Cooking had always been a stress release for her.

It had been weeks since she had made anything beyond sandwiches or scrambled eggs.

Like her mother, and maybe her mother before her. Food was how she showed love.

Would that be how she showed this child love?

Ziva moved so she could sit down. She took a few careful breaths. Tony turned to face her, his face etched with concern.

The dizzy spell passed as quickly as it had come on. She waved him away.

Her hand reached down to her stomach. Carefully her fingertips touched the very slight protrusion of her stomach. There was a baby in there.

They were going to have a baby.

"Shall we do it next weekend?" Tony asked, his head in the fridge. "I think the team have a rostered weekend off."

Ziva remembered those weekends, once a month, where unless the world fell apart, they would be guaranteed to be left alone. Oddly enough, during the later years of her time at NCIS, she found herself spending time with her colleagues on those weekends, even after spending the previous eighty hours with them. They had all be so close.

He placed some tomatoes on the counter, and some chicken breasts Ziva had forgotten about.

"Yes," she said. "Let's."

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

It's a three day weekend where I live, so you get the next chapter earlier. I'm hoping to do the same around Easter. Meanwhile, the next chapter will be up next weekend.

The next chapter will have Ziva talking to Gibbs.

Thanks again for all the love.


	12. Reaching Out

Ziva felt something pulling on her shoulder. She opened her eyes slowly, taking in the room around her. The wood panels and the bookshelves that went up the ceiling. She was not at home.

She was at Gibbs' house.

"Ziver," Gibbs said.

He sat standing over her. His trademark polo shirt and slacks. It was too hot for his sports jacket.

"Hi," she whispered, as she pulled herself up on the couch.

She had not meant to fall asleep, but the fatigue this pregnancy still caught up with her. Thankfully, the other symptoms had started to wane. Most days were good days, but mornings were still the hardest. She and Tony had a system, with Tony brining her some ginger tea before he left for work. There were boxes of crackers on the nightstand.

"DiNozzo know where you are?" he asked.

Ziva had sent him a text early in the afternoon, revealing that she would be stopping in at Gibbs house, after work.

There was leftover moussaka in the fridge. She had finally felt well enough to cook.

She had started to feel like herself again.

"Yes," she said softly. She blinked a few times. She was dizzy, a common occurrence these days if she sat up too fast. "I brought you some food."

On the dining table was a baking dish with foil on top.

"I noticed," he said.

She had texted Tim asking if the team were on a case, wanting to stop by. The younger man had revealed that Gibbs had let the team off at 1630 hours, which was their prescribed finish time.

Ziva checked her phone. It was nearly three hours later. She wondered where Gibbs had been for those three hours.

Some things about Gibbs life would always be a secret.

"We keeping you up?" he asked, as Ziva moved. Her feet landed on the rug by the couch. Her sandals were nearby. She had made herself at home.

"It has been a long week," Ziva said softly.

It was Wednesday.

Gibbs stood in front of the table. Looking at the foil topped baking dish.

"DiNozzo not hungry?" he asked.

Ziva got up slowly. She was wearing the wrap dress again. It was one of the few things that fit comfortably. Every time she wore pants, she was left with welts from the pants digging in. She had gotten into the habit of unbuttoning her pants under her desk.

She had also learnt that if she tied a hair elastic to her pants, she might be able to extend her pants for just another few weeks. Maternity clothes did not look appealing. There were so many bows, and t-shirts with slogans. She had showed Tony some of the slogans t-shirts, and he had enjoyed them. She was not convinced.

"This is just for you," Ziva declared. She walked across the living room toward the dining room.

Gibbs peeled back the foil and revealed half a dozen stuffed peppers. They were stuffed with the same mix she had used with the moussaka. Making the most of feeling well. Until, a few days ago the scent of cooking meat sent her rushing to the bathroom. During early pregnancy her whole diet was crackers and popsicles.

"Thanks," he whispered. He picked up the tray, leaving the foil on the table and moved toward the kitchen. "Looks good."

She followed. Her bare feet on the wooden floor.

He reached the dated kitchen, and turned the oven on.

Gibbs dove into his fridge and came back out a few second later holding a beer. He pointed to it, silently offering it to her. She shook her head. He left the can of beer on the counter, and dove back into the fridge. He returned with a juice box. She nodded.

"Is that how you get your vitamin C?" she asked, as he handed her the box. She pierced the juice box, and took a sip. It tasted exactly how she expected.

"Amira was over last weekend," Gibbs explained.

Ziva took a sip of the sweet juice. Amira was probably a little old for a juicebox.

Amira was nine going on ten, and while Ziva had not seen the child for a little while, she had heard from Leyla, as Ziva often referred clients to Leyla's organisation. Amira was slowly morphing from a sweet child to a troublesome tween. She was starting to realise just how different she was from the other children in her class. Even in the diverse DC metro area.

"It has been a while," Ziva said after a few quiet moments.

Gibbs collected plates from the cupboard. Ziva drunk that last little dribbles of juice, and squashed the box.

"Both been busy," Gibbs murmured, as he grabbed knives and forks from the drawer.

Ziva nodded.

She looked around the kitchen, and tried to remember the last time she had been there. For a while, Gibbs' little craftsman cottage was the place of family dinners, much to Gibbs disdain. Since, Ziva and Tony had brought their house, the parties had moved there. The DiNozzo-David dream house was bigger, but further away from the Navy Yard. It had become the home base for the family.

Gibbs house was bittersweet for her. In the basement there had been so many bad memories. Ari's body falling to the floor from a bullet she had fired. Those hard conversations they had when Ziva returned from Somalia, where Ziva finally told him the truth. Ari had a target on his head long before Ziva stood at the top of the basement stairs. That conversation, where she told him she would not be asking for her badge back. That had been one of the hardest things she had ever done.

There were happy memories too. Those always took place above ground. Watching as Gibbs tried her falafel for the first time. Family dinners, instigated by Abby, where even after the worst cases they all laughed over Tony's movie quotes. The Christmas before Tony and Ziva got married, with the whole house heaving with people. Ziva had been so raw then, still coming to terms with the miscarriage, but the house was so busy. She had been hugged so many times, and watched Amira squeal as she opened her handmade present. It had been exactly what Ziva had needed.

The house had not changed since Ziva had last been there. It never changed.

Gibbs never changed.

"I know," Ziva replied. "I should have made time."

She had been taught to be the dutiful daughter.

Gibbs shook his head.

"We've both been busy," he repeated.

He was giving her grace.

He held up the baking dish, angling for instructions.

"Twenty minutes on 350," she said. "Probably thirty with your oven."

Three Christmases ago, the first one after Ziva handed in her badge, she had arrived early to start cooking. She had discovered just how temperamental the old oven was. The turkey had taken ages, when the team had filed in exhausted and hungry from a long case, she had to make them wait.

Gibbs nodded, and slid the dish into the oven.

"I know we do not really talk anymore," Ziva said, holding onto the kitchen counter. "Since Tony left NCIS as well, and he and his father got closer. You have been left out."

Gibbs took in a deep breath.

He could feel the weight of the conversation.

"I'm good at being alone," he murmured.

He moved through the kitchen, and back toward the living room. Ziva followed.

 _You're never alone when you have kids_ , Gibbs had told her once. When Tony had spent a whole case trying to set Gibbs up on a date.

She knew that Gibbs was not truly alone. Abby had stuck to him like velcro. For better and for worse. Ducky too, even though he had officially retired from NCIS kept Gibbs close, insisting on weekly dinners, even if Gibbs polo and sports jacket combo was a little underdressed for the restaurants Ducky liked to frequent. Amira and Leyla also visited often.

No man is an island, Ducky had said to her during her first year in America.

No woman was an island either, she had learnt that eventually. Letting the others in. Giving love, and getting love in return. Her life was better for it.

"That why you're here?" he asked, as he sat next to her on the ugly check patterned couch. The armchair to the side was, a more logical place to sit. She could smell his cologne, and the faint smell of sawdust. Coffee leached from his pores.

Gibbs never changed.

"That why you're here," Gibbs asked. He took a sip of beer. "To check up on me."

Ziva could smell the beer. It was cheap beer, Gibbs wasn't into the fancy craft beer Tony sometimes brought home. The beer was yeasty. She took a deep breath as the nausea started to rear its ugly head.

She thought she was done with this.

"Not exactly," she murmured.

She pressed her nostrils together, and took a few careful breaths.

"You and DiNozzo fighting?" Gibbs asked.

Ziva took in another breath. She grabbed some of the fabric of her wrap dress. Trying to stop the nausea. Trying to distract herself.

"First year is hard," Gibbs murmured.

Ziva nodded. He would know.

She remembered the dossier she had prepared on him for Ari. Except for Shannon, his other marriages lasted just short of two years.

Those wives would never be Shannon.

"We are not fighting," Ziva said.

The first year of marriage had been hard. Ziva was racing to finish her degree. They had brought the house and were decorating it, with Tony doing the bulk of the physical labour. Ziva had gone off birth control, and as those months wore on without result, the stress started to get to her. There had been some tense moments.

Now with her degree completed and a baby on the way, much of the stress was lifted, but there were still difficult days. Tony and Ziva were careful, not to let those difficult days turn into difficult weeks.

"You doin' okay?" Gibbs asked. He faced her as she spoke, she caught a whiff of his beer breath.

She could see the concerned father in him, as he spoke.

They both knew pain, and the horrors of the world, that was why they got on so well. Even Abby, who gave so much more love than she ever got in return, had admitted that Ziva and Gibbs had a friendship that ran deeper than hers and Gibbs ever could.

 _You just get him_ , Tony had declared once, when they still worked cases. When he wanted Ziva to tell Gibbs some bad news. A rule had been broken, a suspect had gotten away.

"I am," she said softly.

And, she was. The anxiety and fear had started to lift. She had found herself getting excited about this pregnancy, about this baby. She and Tony were finally equally as excited.

They were going to have a baby.

Her job was going well, she finally felt like she knew what she was doing. Her boss and colleagues liked her. The intensive English class she taught in the afternoon, were progressing well. She had even received a handwritten note in practiced English from a client, who Ziva had referred to a food pantry. The woman finally had her basic needs met that she could start to move forwards. To thrive.

Ziva was putting some good back into the world.

She still missed Schmeil, but she knew that with time the grief would soften.

His memory was a blessing.

"Are you?" she asked.

The darkness lingered closer with Gibbs. It danced around the edges.

Ziva had lost more people in terms of sheer numbers, but he had lost people who were closer.

A wife. A daughter.

There was no coming back from that. Not fully.

Children were supposed to outlive their parents.

Gibbs shrugged, and took another sip of beer. The smell filled the space between them again. Ziva's stomach churned.

Her hand reached her mouth. She took a few easy breaths.

"Ziver?" he asked. His voice rising with concern.

She turned her head looking out to the fireplace. Away from the smell.

"The smell," she declared. "It is making me feel sick."

It was probably the smell, coupled with her empty stomach.

Gibbs got up from the couch, taking the offending beer can with him.

Ziva sat still, focusing on her breathing. The smell started to dissipate.

Gibbs banged around in the kitchen for a few minutes. Ziva felt herself start to feel better.

Gibbs returned to living room with a glass of ice water, and some lemon slices on a plate.

"Sour helps," Gibbs declared, as he placed the offerings in front of her.

Ziva took a bite of the lemon slice. Grimacing as the sour taste filled her mouth.

She looked back to him. He was looking out of the window, to the quiet street. Many of the neighbours were home, their cars in their driveways. Gibbs lived in a corner of Alexandria which due to gentrification and population growth was quickly becoming highly desirable. Gibbs working class neighbours had been replaced by professionals, there was a doctor a few doors down. When, she and Tony had been looking for a forever home, Tony had reminded Gibbs that he could make close to a million dollars if he sold up.

 _Not going anywhere_ , Gibbs had replied, where his red USMC hoodie for their formal Christmas dinner.

Ziva took a sip of the water. It was almost too cold. It made her teeth ache.

"Feelin' better?" Gibbs asked, as he turned back to look at her.

She wondered where his head had gone. Back to a similar scene, when the checkered couch was in style, with his red headed bride still living on base. His hand on her shoulder as she took careful calculated breaths, and bit into the lemon.

"Getting there," Ziva whispered.

Gibbs nodded. He looked her up and down. No doubt guessing what had led to her nausea.

"I came here to tell you something," Ziva declared, running her hands over her lap. "But, I think you have probably guessed."

Gibbs smirked. All knowing.

They never could hide anything from him. Not for long.

"I am pregnant," she said unnecessarily. "Nearly thirteen weeks."

Her hand rose up from her lap to the mound on her stomach. Still, easily disguisable, but not for long.

Gibbs smiled. A huge smile, something that he did not usually do.

He was happy. He was proud.

All she had ever wanted was her father to proud of her.

He looked away for a second back out the window. It seemed memories had surfaced.

Gibbs weeks away from deployment, being handed a pregnancy test by his redheaded wife. A smile on her face, even though the baby was coming a year or two ahead of schedule.

Or maybe, it was the what coulda beens. A dangerous rabbit hole to fall down.

Kelly two decades older than she ever got to be. A wedding ring on her finger. Her husband by her side, as she handed him a grainy eight week ultrasound.

 _You're going to be a grandpa._

"DiNozzo know?" Gibbs asked.

Ziva smiled. Even if she had kept him in the dark, there was no way of hiding it now. The pregnancy had wreaked such havoc on her body.

She found herself remembering Schmeil's windowless bathroom. His shower seat tipped over to drain. The faint smell of bleach. Tony's excitement as he held the white stick. Ziva's brewing anxiety as the minutes ticked on. She was so certain that the test would be negative. That the symptoms were all manufactured by her out of desperation. She was losing her Schmeil, and needed something to cling to.

Then Tony had handed her the test, with its faint two lines. A huge smile on his face.

"Yes," she said. "So does Senior, Tony claims he guessed."

Gibbs let out a half laugh.

Ziva found herself thinking of her own father. How when he realised that Ziva was no longer the sharp end of the spear, had started to talk about grandchildren.

She remembered that smile on his face, when he found that photograph of her wearing that fake pregnancy belly for the pregnancy pact case. She had not seen a smile like that in so long, not since before Tali died. Even then, it was such a rare occurrence.

 _You're going to be a Sabba._

"Guess DiNozzo got those detective skills from somewhere," Gibbs declared.

Ziva laughed. A huge belly laugh. It had been so long since she laughed like this. Despite Tony's best efforts.

"We're having a barbeque," Ziva said once the laughter had floated away. "On Saturday, we are going to tell everyone else there. Did Tim tell you about it?"

Tony had announced the barbeque on the app the family all used to keep in touch. He had called it a 'Tony got a grill' party, and invited their friends and family to witness city slicker Tony struggle with the most suburban of tasks. It was the weekend the team were guaranteed to have off. So all of them had RVSP'd yes. Tim had been given the task of being McMessenger and making sure Gibbs got his invite.

"Pickin' up Ducky on the way through," Gibbs replied.

Ducky had all but stopped driving when he retired. He lived close to two metro stops, and had the European enjoyment of trains. Technically, he had been cleared to drive when he did another test after turning eighty, but he had a scare once after driving back from the Palmer house. He had an episode of low blood pressure, thankfully he had been on quiet side street, and had managed to park safely, while calling Ziva to pick him up, on a quiet Tuesday.

Ducky in his early years as an ME and even before that as Junior doctor, had seen too many bodies mangled by cars, to risk that again.

"Good," Ziva said. "It will be good to see you."

Gibbs nodded.

"Someone needs to supervise DiNozzo on that grill," Gibbs declared.

The party had grown to include new friends and old. Tony had invited his colleague Dan, who would be near them to pick up his son from the boys mother's house. Ziva had invited the next door neighbour Roshini, and her husband and son, as well as their neighbour with the two kids under two, wanting to surround themselves with other parents. Someone had once told Ziva that it took a village to raise a child, and they needed to build their village.

It would be wonderful, exactly the type of party that house deserved.

Kids running through house from the garden, dirty feet on the rug. Adults chatting. Happy faces when they announced the pregnancy.

"It has been a while," Ziva murmured. "Since you two have seen each other."

Gibbs sat still.

"Ya," he replied.

Ziva looked at him.

"We miss you," Ziva said softly. "He misses you."

Ziva had found it easier to stay close. Gibbs allowed the women in his life to get closer. Ziva, Abby and even Leyla all wrapped Gibbs in hugs and kisses. McGee was there in terms of proximity, wading through the cases. Tony was on the outside.

"Been busy," Gibbs murmured. Using the same economy of words he always did.

"We have dinner every Friday," Ziva said. Pressing her hand into her dress. "Tony's father comes every week, but the invitation is always open. Abby has come for dinner a few times, and Ducky comes over when he is not travelling."

Both Abby and Ducky, had come for Friday night dinner during the long winter. Ducky always brought wine. Abby sometimes brought dessert from the expensive bakery near the Navy Yard, sugar would always be her first vice.

Other members of the family, had come for the more important dinners; Hanukkah and Passover. They had not moved in to the house, in time for Rosh Hashanah and the wedding which fell at the same time. Ziva did not have the mental energy for both a seder and a wedding. They had gone to her friends Racheal and Jo for the seder in the busy week after the wedding. It had been the last seder in their neat little row house, as they had moved to Boston for Jo's work. Many of the friends she had made during the first few years away from NCIS had fallen away for one reason or another.

The new year was not until the first week of October this year. Ziva hoped she would feel well enough to put on a seder. Tony had been reading up on Jewish holidays, knowing Ziva wanted to raise the baby in a Jewish home, and wanted to host a celebration for Sukkot, believing their deck would be the place for the best sukkah Ziva had ever seen.

"Ain't much of a dinner guest," he replied.

"Tony's father is quite the conversationalist," Ziva declared. "And, there is always room for one more around the table."

When they had moved into the house, Tony and Ziva had debated whether to get a six seater of eight seater table. An eight seater would be tight in the corner designated for the dining room, but would seat more. Eventually, they had found a bench to sit along the wall, and four chairs to sit around the extendable table. It was the best of both worlds, the table could be pulled out for more people to file in behind it if needed.

Soon they would have to find room for a highchair.

The oven timer dinged, saving either of them from pushing the conversation further.

Gibbs got up, and walked toward the kitchen.

Ziva followed taking slow and careful steps. Dizzy spells often followed bouts of nausea. Pregnancy had been a difficult ride. Tony had the nerve to say she was glowing, as he handed her a cup of ginger tea, to try and keep the nausea at bay.

He grabbed an oven mit, that was faded, and dangerously thin. He opened the oven and steam filled the kitchen. A few seconds later he placed the baking dish on the wooden chopping board on the kitchen counter.

The stuffed peppers were brown on top, with melted cheese. She was glad she had decided to use extra cheese.

A hunger gnawed at Ziva's stomach. She was fast approaching thirteen weeks, and food aversions had been replaced by cravings. She wanted everything sweet, cheesy or carby. The vegetables she brought, and usually enjoyed were wasted in the crisper draw of the fridge.

"You did good, kid," Gibbs declared.

She looked back at him. Eyes squinting. Not sure if he was talking about the food, the baby or the peace she had fought to create.

All she had ever wanted was for her father to be proud of her.

And, he was.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Yes, I'm going to have Gibbs' be playing the grandpa role sort of. He won't be building cribs in the basement, but he'll be close enough. Senior will still be the main grandpa. Tony and Gibbs will talk in the next chapter.

Next chapter will have them tell everyone else. It will be up in about eight days.

Thanks again for all the love, and kind words.


	13. On A Sunny Day

Tony pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his shorts, and ran it over his forehead. It was hot. The midday sun was beating down on them, and the grill in front of him sizzled with heat.

It was too damn hot.

"This'll help," Gibbs said appearing from the glass sliding door with a bottle of beer. Gibbs had a matching beer.

Tony smiled. Except for the winery tour with his Dad, he had stayed sober out of respect for Ziva. She did not ask him to be, but he did it anyway. Even on Friday nights, where wine was practically prescribed Tony left the expensive pinot's to his father. Drinking had alway been one of Anthony DiNozzo Senior's better talents. DiNozzo drinking was one sport Tony had the training and talent for, but refused to participate.

Tony rested the barbeque tongs on side, next to the plates and took the beer from Gibbs.

"Cheers boss," Tony declared. Holding up the brown bottle. Gibbs clinked his bottle.

Tony looked at his former boss, who looked like he was dressed for yard work, not a party. His t-shirt had a hole in the sleeve. It was so very Gibbs'.

"Not your boss anymore," Gibbs said, as he took a long swig of the beer.

Tony nodded. Even a year and a half since he left NCIS when he thought of a boss, he thought of Gibbs.

"You're always be my boss," Tony replied, as took a slight sip of the beer. It hit the spot. "Like Bruce Springsteen. He was from Pennsylvania too, right?"

Tony placed the cool beer on his neck. It was still so stinkin' hot. Of course he and Ziva had chosen one of the hottest weekends of the year to have a party.

"New Jersey," Gibbs replied, with a scoff.

Everyone had turned up, even with just a week's notice, and three weeks out from labor weekend. Tony had figured everyone would be all barbequed out.

They were so loved.

"Close enough," Tony replied.

Even though the whole purpose of the party had been to show of their backyard, and get the grill going, almost all of the guests were inside.

Tony watched them all through the big glass doors. It was like a movie. When he and Ziva had organised the party, they had worried that there would be a divide in the guests, by those they knew before from NCIS, and their newer friends. Instead, it turned out that the divide of guest had between parents and non parents.

Jimmy and Breena were talking with Tony and Ziva's neighbour from next door, and the two under two neighbour lady whose name Tony had just learnt was Aimee were comparing notes on their similarly aged kids. Jimmy was talking about developmental stages, with the next door neighbour Roshini, and her husband. Two under two neighbour's husband was absent, apparently in Hong Kong for work.

Abby and Ellie, had made friends with the younger colleagues from Ziva's job. Tony had been told their names, twice, but could not remember them. They were also joined, by the only person Ziva kept in touch with from college, Jessica who used to come over to dinner every so often when they lived in DC proper. Jessica and Ziva's friendship seemed to have slowed, since Ziva had graduated, as Jessica was still plodding along to complete her degree. Jessica had a criminal record, and no partner, so the odds were stacked against her financially. Delilah had recently joined the gaggle of women who were by the fireplace. The group were comparing restaurants in South West DC.

"What's with the eggplant?" Gibbs asked, beckoning Tony back to the grill.

Tony smiled.

"Eggplant is an essential part of Israeli grill," Tony declared in mock seriousness. "Besides I should probably be eating more vegetables, with the new development and all."

Gibbs nodded. Tony knew Ziva had told Gibbs the previous Tuesday.

He looked back into the house. Ziva's boss Thida was talking at length to Leyla probably comparing notes on their respective organisations, by the kitchen island. Amira who was the only kid her age, and oldest kid there was on the sofa in the back porch, the noises from her tablet carrying through an open window.

Senior had been flitting around, trying to encourage everyone to mingle. The repeated small-talk and introductions, were safe. Senior was in danger of spilling the beans. The old man was brimming with excitement.

Ducky was sitting on the armchair close to the front door, and Senior had recently stopped to talk to him.

McGee and Tony's colleague Dan were on the couch, probably comparing notes on having Tony as a colleague. Dan had the pleasure of sharing an office with Tony.

Despite organising the party in just short of week, both Tony and Ziva had debated on whether to invite their new friends to the barbeque. They had gone back and forth. Worrying about how they would all mix, especially Ziva's new friends who could sometimes be averse to law enforcement.

The worries had been for nothing. Everyone got along well.

There was more than enough food, and love to go round.

"You going vegan on me?" Gibbs asked.

Tony let out a laugh. He wondered if Gibbs even knew what a vegan really was.

"Not a chance," Tony said, "But, you know with everything we've got going on around here I figured I better be as healthy as I can be. I'm gonna be one of the older Dad's on the playground."

He had not actually used the word baby. Abby seemed to have supersonic hearing, and he did not want to spoil the surprise.

Gibbs raised his eyebrow.

Tony looked to Jimmy. Jimmy's father had been an older Dad, who had died when Jimmy was a child. His Dad's death had traumatised Jimmy, even if the younger man did not talk of it often. Jimmy had told Tony, not long after they announced Breena's pregnancy, that they had started trying immediately after the wedding, because Jimmy did not want to be an older Dad.

It had also been part of the reason, he and Ziva had rushed into kids. He did not want to be eighty at high school graduation. Ziva was convinced that their journey to parenthood, would be a year long endeavor.

"I figure, I'll probably screw this kid up in a thousand different ways," Tony continued, there was so much in his past, that he had fought to overcome. He could not let those horrors resurface, and pollute the next generation. "But, I don't wanna be one of those Dad's who can't chase a ball you know."

He was going to be somebody's Dad. The best Dad ever. Or die trying.

Dan who used a cane after getting injured on the job, and as Tony had discovered since they started sharing an office, mainlined painkillers, often lamented about this. He couldn't throw a ball around with his kid.

Dan lamented about a lot of things.

"You'll be fine," Gibbs said.

He hoped to be better than fine. He was going to be a great Dad.

He was going to be the best Dad ever.

"I hope so," Tony said.

Tony looked back into the house. Amira and Ziva's bosses kid were sitting on the dining chairs, both engrossed by their iPads. Jimmy was throwing Tori up into the air. She was giggling, and squealing. The noise traveled out the open window.

Tony smiled. This time next year, if everything went to plan, Tony would be doing the same with his own dark haired child.

What would their child's laugh sound like?

"Might wanna turn those," Gibbs declared, pointing the sausages on grill.

Tony grabbed the tongs, and turned the sausages. They were fancy high-end sausages flavoured with rosemary, from a high end grocery near his old apartment. His Dad had brought them, declaring himself to be above the sausages he had seen in the fridge, the previous Friday.

Before, he had brought the grill, the last time he had cooked this way had been during college. Even then, in Ohio in the last years of the eighties grilling was not so advanced. When Tony had googled the make and model of the barbeque he had been overwhelmed by all the information.

His Dad had also been enamoured by the grill, even though Tony could never remember one in the Long Island home. As Tony got older, Tony found himself barely able to remember that old house.

It had never really been home.

"Adjust the heat," Gibbs commanded. "Less is more."

Just like that Tony was back in the pumpkin walled squadroom. Arrest warrants, and head slaps. On it boss, when orders were issued.

Tony missed it sometimes, just like Ziva had warned him. He missed the thrill of the case, and the satisfaction that came at the end, when justice was restored. He did not miss the eighty hour work weeks, and the constant emotional trauma.

"Thanks boss," Tony said, as he fiddled with the knob.

Tony watched as Ziva hugged her new colleagues, and old college friend, before moving toward the living room, and wrapping her arms around Delilah.

She was wearing that dress she had gotten for her graduation. Tony remembered the long back bit poking out from her heavy robes. He could also remember it, when he found her in Schmeil's hospital room. He had thought that it would have made its way out of the house after that. Ziva had habit of buying a crap ton of clothes then donating them a year later, while Tony hoarded his old threads until the closet was bursting. There was boxes of clothes from the nineties taking up real estate in the basement.

Instead, when they returned from Israel pregnant and as the weather warmed, it had gotten at least twice weekly outings.

He was gonna miss that dress when the temperature dipped, or when Ziva finally submitted to maternity clothes, whichever came first.

"I told you about that," Gibbs muttered.

Tony took a sip of the beer. It was already warm. Curse this heat.

"You might not be my boss anymore," Tony started, "But you are a part of my life."

Gibbs finished his beer and placed the empty bottle on the patio table, which was as new as the grill. Topping of Tony's suburban garden.

"Ziva loves you," Tony continued. "For better, for worse she loves you. And, I got kinda used to you. We had a good run you and I. Fifteen years is awful long to work together. Pretty sure you spent more time with me, than all three of your ex-wives combined."

He loved Gibbs too, but he didn't quite know how to say it.

"That'll be about right," Gibbs murmured.

Tony handed Gibbs a plate, and started to pick the grilled vegetables up from the heat source.

"I know I kinda hung back that first year after I left," Tony said, carefully placing the grilled eggplant on the plate. "But, we had a lot going on then, and I needed to settle into the new job."

Gibbs put the plate full plate on a table, and grabbed another empty one.

"I'm used to being on my own," Gibbs said.

Tony scoffed. Ziva had recounted her conversation with Gibbs earlier in the week. He'd used a similar line on her.

"You're not on your own," Tony said, as he picked up the kebab sticks and placed them on the plate. He felt sweat pooling on his face. "You haven't been, not for a long time."

Not since Ducky with his endless stories. Not since Abby with her warm hugs. Not since him with his dependability, he always was a loyal Saint Bernard.

Gibbs nodded.

"Look," Tony started. "Ziva and I are a bit lacking in the whole extended family department, and we're about to grow our little family. We fill this house with love. It's not going to make up for the fact that we will only have photos for bring-in-your-grandma day at school, or that there's no one else in our lives who looks like Ziva, but it's a start."

He looked down at the grill. Feeling the heat on his face. His eyebrows were itchy. He was too close, but he enjoyed the burn.

The words that had come out had surprised him. So much of what he felt had been buried.

He had been the happy one, while Ziva had been the rubber band of anxiety. Pulled thin and ready to snap.

He had been the one who looked a baby clothes online. He had been the one who tried to help Ziva feel better. Both physically and mentally.

He had tried not to dwell on who would never meet the baby.

"What you tryna say, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.

He wasn't sure.

Where had this come from?

"I'm trying say," Tony started, but was not sure where he was going. "I'm trying trying to say, that Ziva and I are building a team. We're gonna need all the help we can get, and this island impression you've got going on is wearing a little thin."

Gibbs coughed. Tony's words had gut deep.

"We have dinner every Friday," Tony said, his voice softening. "Ziva makes enough for the whole neighbourhood. The last couple of weeks Dad's picked up the cooking side of things, because Ziva hasn't been feeling the greatest. We've been eating a lot of pasta."

Gibbs nodded, looking across to Ziva as Senior wrapped her in a soft hug.

"She doin' okay?" Gibbs asked. Concerned laced his voice.

"She's doing better now," Tony continued. "But, anyway it's pretty much an open invitation. Ziva likes to get a message by Friday afternoon so she can decide how many challahs to make, but we can make it work."

Ziva wriggled out of the hug, and grabbed some lemonade. Ducky walked across the living room toward the back of the house. Everyone was getting hungry.

"What you tryna say?" Gibbs repeated.

"I'm saying that there is always room at the table for you, boss," Tony said, as he grabbed the steaks from the board, and put them on the grill. They would not need long. "Even if we've got a full house, we'd make room."

Gibbs watched the steak.

They would always make room for him.

"Abby comes over sometimes," Tony said as he turned the steaks. "And Ducky when he's not jetting off to some conference. Ellie came over once."

Ellie had come over, when she had heard that her now ex-husband Jake had already moved in with a new girlfriend. They had barely been separated for a year. Ellie held no belief that the two of them would get back together, but she had thought that Jake would have waited longer. She had needed to distract herself, and eat all the food she could.

Ziva had welcomed her with open arms, even though they never worked together they were good friends. Tony had insisted Ellie crash in their guest room, making use of the go bag in the back of her car, because Ellie had drunk almost all of the wine she had brought over.

The next morning Ziva had made her french toast, with Challah. Something Ellie had declared to be the best breakfast ever.

"Ziva misses you," Tony said, before Gibbs could say anything else. "Ziva loves you."

Gibbs picked up a clean plate, and the roll of kitchen paper from the table. He put a couple of the white sheets on top, ready for the steaks. Abby, would give them hell about the disposable paper towels, and their cost to the environment.

"We've been through a lot together," Tony said. "That doesn't stop because I left."

Gibbs placed the meat on the table. The sliding door opened, and Senior appeared a tea towel slung over his expensive linen shirt.

"The troops are getting restless, Junior," Senior muttered as he picked up the plates of meat, and walked back through. "Shame Judy couldn't come."

Judy was Delilah's mother who had recently moved to the DC metro area. She was at least fifteen years younger than Senior, but whenever they were in the same room, Senior tried to put his moves on her. Judy always politely rebuffed, and they were starting to build a friendship, based on their newness to DC and being of a certain age.

Judy was in London visiting Delilah's sister.

"So, Friday night dinner," Gibbs muttered, as they walked through the door.

It was a step forward.

* * *

Half an hour later Tony was standing by the kitchen island, munching on some grilled eggplant, watching the scene around him. He'd been talking to Dan, his colleague by he had gone outside to make a phone call to his ex-wife. She had delayed pick up again.

Breena and Jimmy were trying to convince Tori to try some grilled eggplant. Roshini, their next door neighbor had her son on her lap, and was feeding him little bits of food, and trying to keep his grubby hands from the couch. Aimee, their neighbour with the two under two, was nursing the younger child, with a scarf carefully draped over her chest. The older child was being watched by Roshini's husband. Watched being the operative word, as the small child was seconds away from a temper tantrum.

That would be them soon. Hopefully, with only one kid at a time. And, definitely with both parents in the country.

Their childfree friends were chatting. Ducky was telling a story of his recent travels. Senior and Gibbs were to the side drinking beer, both sharing an all knowing look.

Ziva moved from the bubble of conversation. She was carrying her plate, which had the wooden skewers from the kebabs. Tony was glad to see her eating more. Morning sickness and food aversions had been horrible.

His colleague Dan walked through the backdoor. A frown etched deep in his face. Dan was easily a decade younger than Tony, but looked older.

"Think we should let them in on the secret," Tony said, wrapping his arm Ziva.

She leaned over and picked a cherry tomato from his plate. Tony frowned, she had avoided anything remotely healthy the week before. Pregnancy was weird.

He looked back around the room. All their favourite people. Old friends and new surrounding them.

They were surrounded by love. The room buzzed with it.

"Yes," she said.

He grabbed a knife and tapped his wine glass.

Within a minute, all of their guests had moved to the dining room. Kids were placed on hips. Amira had her iPad confiscated.

"Well folks, we're gathered here today," Tony started.

There were a couple of laughs.

"No, that was a year ago," Tony continued, his cheeks ached with the smile he was wearing. "Some of you were there for that. It was a hell of a party."

They had more guests at this backyard barbeque than they had at their wedding.

More laughs came from the crowd.

"Anyway, we're here today, to celebrate my wonderful wife," Tony said turning slightly to Ziva. Her arm snaked behind his back. She averted her eyes, she hated being the centre of attention. "Firstly, she hasn't killed me in the almost year we've been married, even while we brought this house into the twenty-first century."

There were smiles and laughter from the crowd. Tony looked toward to the window that looked out to the porch which they had painted during Ziva's winter break.

"She also graduated this past June," Tony said, pointing his glass toward Ziva's college friend Jessica. "And got an amazing job."

He directed his wine glass to Ziva's boss and colleagues who nodded.

Ziva rubbed her hand up and down his back.

"And, she's pregnant," Tony said.

There was a silence, as everyone absorbed the news. Then everybody spoke at once, and moved closer to Tony and Ziva. Arms out.

"Oh, how wonderful," Ducky declared, as he wrapped his arms around Ziva and placed a kiss on Ziva's cheek.

"I did wonder about that dress," Ellie declared, as she joined the line of huggers and well wishers. "It's not really your style."

"I thought so," Jimmy declared, as Breena did the hugging for both of them. "Ziva's boobs were definitely bigger."

Ziva grimaced. Breena shot Jimmy a look. He would pay for that later.

"We have so much baby stuff," Breena declared, "You won't have to buy a thing."

Their neighbour Aimee, hung close, but did not hug them. They weren't that close yet.

"I know a great cloth diaper service," she declared. Her younger child straped to her chest. "I'll send Ziva the link."

Tony frowned. He and Ziva had not really talked about some of the parenting choices they would be making, but Ziva definitely leaned into the more crunchy way of parenting, that was popular in their yuppie neighbourhood.

Tony's colleague Dan stood in front of him. They did the awkward man hug, patting each other on the back.

"Congrats man," Dan said. A smile on his face. "It really is the best thing you'll ever do."

Tony nodded.

He was so excited for this. So ready.

"I'm pretty excited," he said. "And, scared out of my mind."

Dan let out a half laugh.

"That never really goes away," he murmured.

Abby barrelled into Tony and Ziva. Wrapping them both in a hug.

"This is the best news," Abby said. She was practically bouncing. "I know you guys have wanted this for a long time. You're going to be the best parents, and you're gonna make the cutest little baby."

Abby pulled back.

"We hope so," Ziva said, with a huge smile.

"Come on Ziva," Tony said in an exaggerated voice. "We know the kid is going to be hella cute, I mean it's going to have DiNozzo genes. We make gorgeous babies, just ask Dad."

Ziva let out a laugh. Her hair bounced.

Tony laughed too.

Abby moved back into the crowd, and wrapped her arms around Senior.

"Congrats Grandpa," he said. Her voice louder than all the others.

The other guests, all gave their congratulations. Roshini from next door, offered some maternity clothes which had been gathering dust in her closet. McGee and Delilah both offered their well wishes, then looked at each other for the longest time, perhaps wondering if this would ever be them. Leyla whispered something in Arabic.

"I did wonder about the crackers in your desk," Yara, one of Ziva's younger colleagues said, as she wrapped Ziva in a tight hug.

Ziva's other colleague also offered congratulations, along with Ziva's college friend. Her boss Thida wrapped her in a hug. Everyone at her new job was ridiculously affectionate.

"So Gibbs," Senior said from across the room. "Do we start talking about names now?. I feel I'm more of a Papa, it's classic you know. You'd definitely be a Gramps, that's more cosy."

Gibbs took a sip of beer.

"Gibbs'll do," Gibbs replied with his same economy of words he always used.

"GrandGibbs," Senior declared with a smile on his face. "Now, that has a ring to it."

Gibbs smiled.

Once, everyone else had offered their well wishes and love. Senior stepped away from Gibbs, who was listening to Abby bable with excitement, and moved closer. He wrapped Ziva in a tight hug. She leaned in to the hug.

"God, I'm glad that secrets out," Senior replied, as he moved his hug to Tony. "It was killing me."

"Me too, Dad," Tony said with a smile. "Me too."

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Secrets out. I'm kinda meh about this chapter, I guess I built it up for too long. I know I've introduced a lot of side characters, part of their new lives. Don't worry trying to learn their names, as they'll only get mentions. No in depth conversations. In case it's not obvious from the discussion about barbeque I have no idea how to barbeque. I live in a country which is famous for it's barbeque too.

Apologies this chapter, was a little late, I went away for my birthday. Thanks so much for all the love. Next chapter will be up next week, and will feature Tony and Ziva celebrating their wedding anniversary.

I'm so behind in my review replies. Please know, that I appreciate every one of them. This fic is going a little slower than previous fics, but I'm hoping to tell a good story.


	14. Making Decisions

Ziva stood in front of the huge glass window, and watched the sun come up over the vineyard where she and Tony had gotten married nearly a year ago. She pulled her cardigan over her, pulling it tenderly over her slightly protruding stomach.

She was four months along, and now wore a mix of maternity, and non maternity clothes. Anything without an elastic waist had been banished to the back of the closet.

Her hand stroked the tiny mound under her cardigan. The skin underneath was tender. She still could not quite believe this was happening.

So much had changed in the year since she was last here.

Tony's snoring halted, and she heard the groan that usually accompanied him waking up.

"It's so early," Tony said, as Ziva pivoted to greet him. His hair was spiky. Like it had been all those years ago, in the squadroom when she joined the team.

"Go back to sleep," she said softly.

The sun inched up a little higher in the sky.

Sunrise had always been one of Ziva's favourite times of day. She did not often get up early enough to see it. On this morning, she had been woken by the need to pee, and had stayed awake to watch the sunrise. It was beautiful here.

"Need to pee," Tony murmured.

Ziva smirked, between his aging bladder, and her current state, the tiny ensuite in the bed and breakfast, had gotten a lot use.

Tony got up, let out another groan, and padded to the bathroom.

Ziva turned back to the sunrise.

She studied the vineyard. The low vines in neat lines, which reminded her of olive groves. Little had changed in the year since the wedding. Ziva took comfort in that.

They were staying in the bed and breakfast down the hill from the colonial house where they had married on the deck. When she and Tony had arrived the afternoon before, there had been another wedding taking place, under a huge tent. The wedding party was much bigger than Tony and Ziva's had been, but the couple had seemed happy. Tony and Ziva had watched with knowing smiles.

Tony came out of the ensuite. He did not go back into bed, instead he walked behind her, and wrapped his arms around her. His hands were a little wet.

"Morning," he said, nuzzling her neck.

He then reached down and touched her stomach.

"Morning baby," he whispered in the direction of her stomach. "You being nice to your Mom today?"

Ziva looked to the open packet of crackers, and water sitting on the coffee table by the armchairs.

She was no longer sick all the time, but had become ravenously hungry over the last few weeks. She had learnt not to let herself get too hungry, and that it was best to eat the minute she woke up. If she let herself get up, while hungry, she was prone to dizziness.

Pregnancy had been a wild ride.

"Yes," Ziva said. "Except for making me need to pee every ten minutes."

Tony scoffed.

"That makes two of us," he said softly. "Though that was probably the beer."

They had eaten dinner in the gazebo on the property. It was far away from the noise of the wedding. They had opted for a picnic style meal, with the food collected from the various artisan businesses they had passed on the drive to the valley from their home. Tony had collected some beer, from a brewery that had been suggested during the wine tour he had gone on with his father, for a belated birthday present. He had even managed to get some non-alcoholic grape juice for her. The sat under the stars and enjoyed the quiet. Listening to the crickets. Talking about their own wedding, just shy of a year ago.

Talking about their future, and how they were about to grow.

So much was about to change.

Ziva smiled.

"Let's go back to bed," he murmured. "It's chilly."

Ziva nodded, but stayed still, wanting to soak in the sunrise.

Her mind drifted to the morning of the wedding. Schmeil still on Israeli time, up early, and the walk the two of them had taken. They had talked about who would be missing from the wedding. She and Schmeil had shared memories, and promised to find the joy. There was so much joy still to come.

Now, Schmeil was gone too.

A lump formed in her throat, and a sob slipped out.

Tony pulled her closer.

"You okay?" he asked.

Ziva blinked a few times.

"I miss Schmeil," she declared.

The pregnancy, seemed to have brought almost every emotion closer to the surface. Before, she might have been able to squash the sadness that came when she thought of Schmeil. His loss, while peaceful, was still raw.

Tony rubbed her back. Up and down.

"Me too," he said softly.

They stood in the quiet for a few moments.

"I can't believe it's been a year," Tony said.

"Not quite," Ziva murmured. "Our anniversary is on Tuesday, because of the leap year."

They had married on the Sunday, because of the Rabbi not being able to marry them on Shabbat, but their dozen wedding guests had stayed in the bed and breakfast for the long weekend. The ceremony had been in midmorning, and lunch was held for their friends who had to drive back. Tony and Ziva had stayed on for an extra night.

"Close enough," he said. "There were probably a few people who thought we wouldn't make the year."

Maybe, if they had gotten tangled up in each other earlier, and married, the ghosts might have haunted them. They might have imploded.

Ziva remembered the wedding. The smile on Tony's face as he slipped the ring onto her finger.

They promised each other forever. They were going to stick it out. Til death do them part.

"Things are gonna be so different this time next year," Tony said. He stroked her stomach softly.

The baby would be here by then. Around six months old. Tiny fingers and toes. Baby curls. Chubby arms and legs.

Two would be three.

A couple would be a family.

"We'll bring them here," Tony declared.

"Here?" she asked. There was a growing urge to pee. Again.

"Yeah," Tony said.

She turned to look at him. The sun made his face look soft.

"Well, maybe not here exactly," Tony said, as he looked down at her. A smile on his face. "But, when we were driving down, I saw those little cottages. We could stay in one of those, with one of those carry cribs things Jimmy used to have. We could take the baby to where we got married. It's so close."

The valley was a two hour drive from home, on a good traffic day. Technically it was close enough for a day trip, but she and Tony liked to take their time, and make a vacation out of it.

"And, when we got married we said we wanted to travel," Tony added.

Ziva rested her head on his chest. She remembered pre-marital counselling, with the Rabbi who married them. The pre-marital counselling had mostly involved them formalizing the conversations they had mostly already had. Making sure their goals were aligned, and they could comprise on things where they did not quite see eye to eye.

They had talked about travel as a mutual goal. Now, that they both had jobs with reasonable hours, they wanted to see as much of the world as they could. The Rabbi had asked them to visualise what that would mean, as homework before the next session.

They had decided that they would aim for one big international trip every two years or so, a smaller trip to a faraway part of the US every year, and weekends away every few months. They also vowed to take their children to Israel at least once.

There was so much of this world to see.

They had talked about all the places they would go, they wanted to see it all. The summer that was slipping away from them, was supposed to be have been one of travel, as Ziva was done with her degree, and they had not taken a proper honeymoon. Then Schmeil had died, and their credit card had taken a hit with the unexpected trip to Israel. The pregnancy, had also knocked her for six, making her tired and exhausted. The only trip they had managed, had been the winery tour with Tony's father, which was also in the Shenandoah valley. There had been a discussion about going to the beach, but that had never panned out.

"I want to show her the world," Tony declared.

Her.

They did not know the sex of the baby yet, but Tony was convinced the baby was going to be a girl.

"Do you still think the baby is going to be a girl?" Ziva asked.

Tony shrugged.

"It's a gut feeling," he said. "A strong gut feeling."

Curly hair. Baby toes.

She touched her stomach.

Are you a boy or a girl? She silently asked.

A little him, or a little her.

"Do you want the baby to be a girl?" she asked.

Did he want to avoid his father's mistakes, with a daughter?

Fathers and daughters could have such strong relationships.

A father who wronged his daughter, could leave scars that lasted a lifetime.

"It's not like we can decide," Tony said. "Even if we could, it's a little late."

"We can find out," Ziva said.

Tony looked at her, a confused look on his face.

"At the appointment next month," she said softly. "When they do the ultrasound."

Tony looked at her. A smile crossing his face.

He had wanted to go to every appointment, but his job was nearly an hour drive from her doctor. They had eventually agreed for him to go to the important ones, the ultrasounds and the final ones when the due date approached.

"Do you wanna find out?" he asked.

Ziva looked away from him. The ultrasound was the anatomy ultrasound, they would know if there was anything wrong with the baby.

Lately, she had found herself googling various pregnancy symptoms, and going down an internet rabbit hole. She found blogs written by women who were raising children who were different or had extra needs, in states Ziva had never been too.

Ziva had read stories of babies born with holes in their hearts. Facial deformities, that required extensive surgeries to help the tiny creatures breathe. Babies who had spent months in the NICU.

She knew tragedy could still befall them.

Ziva had read stories of babies whose hearts never beaten on the outside. Babies who were incompatible with life.

"I do," Ziva said. "It is good to be prepared, yes?"

To know if they would have to make choices, or accommodations.

"Yeah, we need to know what colour to paint the nursery," he said, with a smile.

They were slowly tidying up the room closest to their bedroom to turn into a nursery. Though Ziva liked the idea of having the baby sleep in their room until the child was at least six months old.

Ziva wanted to keep the baby close.

"I would like to keep it neutral," she murmured. "Or maybe a green colour. Green is supposed to be a peaceful colour."

"Okay," he said softly. "We'll go to the hardware store the weekend after the appointment, and you can pick the colour."

"The ultrasound is not just to find out the babies sex," Ziva said. Her voice softening out, to barely a whisper.

Tony's face screwed up.

"Ziva," he uttered. There was a huff in his voice. She always brought the darkness in the light.

"I know," she said. "I am overreacting."

A dark cloud had been following her since, the stick produced the second line. Or maybe even before. She was still so sure this would all be taken away.

"That wasn't quite what I was going to say," he whispered. "I was gonna say that whatever happens, we'll deal with it."

Ziva looked up at him. He had so much faith. Not necessarily a religious faith, but a faith in the universe. He honestly believed, that everything would be okay.

"Yes," she said, trying to convince herself. "So far everything has been okay."

The doctor was watching Ziva's blood pressure, as it technically within the normal range, but still high considering her pre-pregnancy blood pressure. She had not bled as she feared, and when she had cramps because her body was making room for the baby, she had been able to tell the difference.

It was not like last time.

"All that matters is that neither of you suffer," he muttered.

Her heart quickened.

They had talked about what they would do if they had a baby that was incompatible with life. That had been during the marriage counselling, mere months after the miscarriage, when future children were very much wanted but hypothetical.

They had both had decided that they did not want to bring someone into the world to suffer.

He was also very insistent that he would not want Ziva to martyr herself for a pregnancy. He did not want a dead wife, for a live child.

"We are both healthy," Ziva said, as she pulled apart from him. "But, I do need to pee."

She slipped out of his embrace, and walked toward the bathroom.

A few minutes later, she closed the door on the ensuite, and found that Tony had moved back to bed.

"The bathroom is only slightly bigger than the one in Italy," he said, as Ziva shredded her cardigan, and slipped under the covers. Tony snaked his arms around her waist. "Do you remember, you'd hit your elbow on the sink while you were on the head?"

"I have found memories of that bed and breakfast," Ziva muttered. A smile on her face.

That had been the room, where they got engaged. Where Ziva had knocked over the suitcase and found the ring tucked into Tony's spare shoes. He had proposed, with a towel around his waist. Her hair had been dripping wet, and makeup half done.

"So do I," Tony said, as he nuzzled into her neck.

They laid there quietly, listening as some people in a neighbouring room started to get up. The walls in this old building were thin.

"I want to raise the baby Jewish," she said suddenly, as Tony rubbed her back.

"Okay," he said.

"You are okay with that?" she asked, as she turned over in bed, so that they were facing each other. He pulled the sheet high above them, like they were in a tent.

"Yeah," he said with a shrug. "I mean with discussed it, before."

Before had been a careful choice of words. They had discussed how they would raise their children Jewishly, even before they were engaged. They had talked about it again, last time, but only briefly.

This time was not like last time.

"I know my Fiddler and the Roof, from my Yentl, now," he declared.

Ziva laughed a little.

"Baby showers are not common in Jewish families," Ziva declared.

Technically, she had so few Jewish friends, and even fewer of them had children, so she was not sure if people were still so superstitious. She could not remember a baby shower, during her childhood, but instead her mother rushing to buy a baby gift hours before turning up the new parents house with a foil covered baking dish.

"Okay," he said. "The house is still recovering from our last party, anyway."

Their house larger than Gibbs house, had become the site for 'team' parties, even if Tony and Ziva were no longer in the team. The last time, Tony and Ziva had hosted a party, for Passover, Ziva had been able to help with the cleaning up. The morning after the barbeque where they announced the pregnancy, Ziva had been exhausted, and Tony had learnt just how much work it was to tidy up.

They had to wash almost all of the cushion covers, as the smaller guests had left fingerprints and food on all of them.

"You are not disappointed?" Ziva asked.

Tony shook his head.

"Baby showers are more of a soritary affair anyway," he declared.

Ziva remembered, their opposite neighbour Aimee, having a baby shower a few weeks after Ziva and Tony moved in. Streams of guests had arrived, almost all of them women, and many carrying small children or babies. Tony had said, it was all gift grabbing, and wondered what their neighbour would actually need, as she was having her second child so soon after having her first.

How naive they had been, as non-parents.

"Jimmy and Breena's was co-ed," Ziva declared.

Jimmy and Breena's had been held around the winter holidays, just before Tori was born, and months after the miscarriage. It had been an uncomfortable experience for Ziva. She had been surrounded by so much happiness, and yet felt a dark cloud over her.

They had stayed long enough for the gender reveal, with Jimmy popping a balloon and releasing pink confetti.

Then Tony and Ziva had slipped out, trying not to make too much of a fuss. They had been on edge as they drove home.

How horrible they had felt. Being the dark cloud on such a joyful day.

"That's because Jimmy is a babywearing SuperDad," Tony said.

Jimmy was exactly the type of Dad, Tony wanted to be. That Tony would be.

"Just like you will be," Ziva said.

She had seen Tony reading an article about how Dads could wear their babies. Jimmy and Breena had promised them a baby carrier, that had been languishing in their garage, as it was for smaller children than Tori.

"I'll try," Tony said.

Ziva smiled. Tony reached out to her, and moved a curl out of her face.

"Abby will be disappointed," Tony said. "She already offered to help set up."

Abby had been almost as excited as Senior when the pregnancy was announced. She was going to be the cool Aunt, and had already promised her babysitting services.

"We could have a celebration after the baby is born," Ziva declared. "Especially, if it the baby is a boy."

"You mean like a circumcision," he said. His voice shaky.

He pulled the sheet down, tucking it under their arms. They were coming up for air. The conversation was getting too heavy.

"You were circumcised," Ziva said, directing her eyes to his crotch.

Tony's face flushed red.

"Yeah," Tony said. "Pretty much everyone my age was, but we didn't turn it into a party. I'm pretty sure they did it in the hospital."

Ziva looked at him.

"I am not sure what you're getting at," Ziva said.

"I don't object to circumcision," he said, "But, I don't know about turning it into a ceremony. I mean the synagogue and everything."

"I would not want to host the Bris at a synagogue," Ziva declared. "Not everyone we know would be comfortable there."

She had so few Jewish friends when she was an agent. When she had laid down her guns she had joined a synagogue close to old apartment. It had been more liberal, with many interfaith families. She had even made friends with Jo and Rachael, another couple who had moved away to Boston, a few months ago. She had not to make Jewish friends, who were so close.

Since, moving to the suburbs she had found it harder to get to DC proper, and had not found a synagogue in Alexandria she liked. The congregations were older, and stuck in their ways.

"We went to Church for Tori's christening," Tony said with a shrug.

Ziva remembered the beautiful church, with its ornate decoration, and how happy Breena's parents were when Tori was blessed.

The christening had been to appease Jimmy's in-laws, more than a choice Jimmy and Breena were making.

"I know," Ziva said, "But, I would prefer to have it at home."

Tony frowned.

"Is in sanitary?" he asked.

Their baby was due in the last week of February, right at the tail end of winter. Ziva's gut feeling was that the baby would be early rather than late.

It would be more sanitary to have the Bris at home, rather than carting their eight day baby around, while the weather was still so cold, and people were walking runny noses.

"Yes," Ziva said. "People have been doing this for a long time."

He sighed.

"I know," he whispered. "But, a Bris is not the only thing you want to do at home."

She had floated the idea of home birth, by him the evening before as he finished his beer. She had said she would only do it, if her doctor approved. Tony had sat listening, as she listed off all the reasons why it would be the best choice for them; Ziva was not afraid of pain, they were far from a hospital and Ziva had been born quickly, and that the babies had been born at home since the beginning of time.

She remembered when she had seen the midwife arrive at the neighbours house, the previous January. Ziva had been driving home, and had watched the midwife, slip into the house. The next morning, Ziva had watched, the next morning, when the midwife left. The neighbour waving from the window, a tiny baby held to her chest.

It had looked so beautiful. The neighbour was so peaceful.

Tony had accused her of spending too much time with the two-under-two neighbour, and had said he would want to look into it. To do more research.

"It was just an idea," Ziva said, meeting him in the middle. "I was looking at different options. We're going to have to make so many choices over the next few months."

Some choices had been easy, and intuitive. The baby would sleep in their room for a few months, in a seperate but close bassinet, they would vaccinate, and they were probably going to get more than one type of baby carrying/sling device.

Both of them liked the idea of carrying their child close.

"And, how I give birth might not even by a choice I get to make in the end," Ziva said. "What is they say about best laid plans?"

Emergency c-sections. Breech babies that would not turn. Labours that went on for days. Ziva had read all the horror stories.

All the mattered was that the baby arrived safely, she knew that. But, she also wanted to desperately control the place the baby was born in.

"I know," he said, his voice soft. Soothing. Would his voice be this calming with the baby?

She could imagine him now, walking up and down, soothing the tiny creature. He would be such a wonderful father.

"We can talk more about it," Tony said. "And make some more decisions. I definitely want to veto cloth diapers."

Ziva smiled.

She had looked into the cloth diaper links provided by her neighbour, and by Abby, all spouting about the environmental benefits of using cloth diapers. If they brought their own it might even be cheaper in the long run, but Ziva did not want to be cleaning diapers. She would make an extra effort with her recycling, to try and make up for the environmental impact.

"Either way we're going to spending a lot of time dealing with stinky diapers, over the next few years," she declared.

He moved closer, touching the tiny bulge of her stomach.

"I can't wait," he said.

Ziva laughed.

"I'll remember that," she said softly. "When the baby needs changing."

He nodded.

A quiet brewed again. He pulled the sheet over them. They were cocooned.

"What about if the baby is a girl?" Tony asked.

Ziva squinted.

"What does that have to do with diapers?" she asked.

"Nothing," he replied."But, what do we Jews do for baby girls, obviously you can't do a Bris."

"We could do a Brit Bat," Ziva replied. "Those are still quite new, so there is more room for customisation."

Tony smiled.

"So what happens?" he asked.

Ziva found herself remembering, the apartment in Tel Aviv. Her mother and Aunt Nettie, fussing over the baby and house respectively. Her Uncle, with his war marked face standing in for her father, who was away again. The Rabbi and Schmeil in long discussion about history. Ziva in a dress she did not like.

The Rabbi's low voice, as her mother held the baby. Her mother saying Tali's name for the first time. Ziva wondering wear her father was, and why they had not waited for him.

"Well, it is kind of like a naming ceremony," Ziva said. "We would invite everyone. Then we would announce her name, and her Hebrew name if choose to give her a separate Hebrew name, say a blessing, and thank everyone who stood by our side as we became parents. Then we eat, probably finger food rather than a seder."

Tony's eyes became glassy. A soft smile sat on his face.

Their home, again filled with love. An extra member of their family, ready for her debut.

"I like the idea of that," he said. "It sounds so beautiful."

Ziva smiled.

"It would be," Ziva said softly. "Maybe your father could do a speech."

He looked at her. A warm smile on his face.

"Yeah," he said,moving closer to Ziva. "He'd love that."

Senior would love this baby.

This baby would be surrounded by love.

So much love.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

The Brit Bat information comes from the website 'Kveller'. The information/inspiration for their vacation destination comes from the 'Visit Shenandoah' website, which now spams my facebook/social media ads.

The next chapter will have them find out the sex of the baby. Though for those who remember the last chapter for "Scenes From A Life, Built Together" will already know. Next chapter, will be up next week.


	15. Sugar, Spice, And Everything Nice

Tony watched as Ziva's face lit up, as the food appeared at the table. A huge smile washed onto her face.

It was late afternoon on a Thursday. Tony felt weird for being away from work. The world during the week was different. People spilled out from a metro stop down the street. Bracing themselves against the autumn chill. It was the last day of September, and the fallen leaves lined the street. Abby was planning a Halloween party.

"I am starving," she declared, for the second time since they had arrived at the bistro.

Technically, the meal was the one Tony had ordered but at this point, he was not going to remind Ziva of that. He knew better than to come between pregnant Ziva and her food.

She was smack bang in the middle of the pregnancy, and was either hungry or horny. Her hormones were raging.

They had been like teenagers during their weekend away for their wedding anniversary, and pretty much every weekend since.

Eighteen weeks and seven days the doctor had said, when they arrived for the appointment. The appointment had been moved up a few days, to fit with her doctors vacation.

In just five short months, the baby would be here. Fully realised. Fully hatched.

"I never would have guessed sweetheart," he said sarcastically.

Ziva had been complaining of hunger since they had arrived at the doctors office. She had demolished two protein bars during the car ride to the doctors office.

This was after a frittata meant for four people, for their pre-appointment had held her eat that, in their kitchen as they discussed nursery paint colours. Tony's pants had started to feel tighter, they were both piling on the pounds as the pregnancy progressed.

She rubbed her stomach. The pregnancy was obvious even to the uninitiated. Except for cardigans which did not have to close, everything she wore was from the maternity section.

She had not had to buy many clothes, between Breena and their two neighbours, she was almost kitted out. Apparently, maternity clothes and baby items were like Christmas trees, essential for the season but once the time passed they needed to be passed on as quickly as possible. The items quickly became clutter. Tony had already started measuring the room that was to become the nursery for the glider that their next door neighbours were wanting to get rid of. Tony had surveyed, the handful of parents he knew, and almost all of them suggested getting some sort of chair in the nursery. It would be essential for the late night feeds. Tony was expecting to do as many late night feeds, as Ziva.

He had also started lusting over, one of those smart socks, that could monitor the baby's heart rate and blood oxygen levels. That would be an expensive purchase.

Would that ease Ziva's anxiety?

She stuffed a fry into mouth.

"I am eating for two," she replied. A smile on her face. Curls framed her face. "That is the saying, yes?"

He nodded. A smile on his face. She matched his smile.

He was glad to see the smile. It was the sun peaking out from the clouds. The clouds had hung over them for so long.

He was happy. She was happy. They were happy. Sickenly happy.

"Is our little girl hungry?" He asked.

Ziva stopped eating. Her mouth hung open.

As of an hour ago, they knew the sex of the baby. It would be a girl. Just like his gut had told him.

A girl. They were having a girl.

Tony had stood next to Ziva as she lay on the table, her top pulled up. That weird doctor paper on her lap. The ultrasound wand had pressed hard into Ziva round belly. Ziva was uncomfortable because of her full bladder. A full bladder helped the doctors get better pictures.

Then the baby's heartbeat had echoed in the small dark room. Ziva's eyes had lit up.

 _Swoosh. Swoosh. Swoosh._

The noise had made his own heart soar. He was already so in love.

It was so fast. Normal he had been assured. Ziva had let out a huge breath. He knew this, she had been relieved.

She had expected the worst.

"She is," Ziva said, a soft smile still on her face.

Tony smiled. He ate a fry. The salt on his fingertips. He licked his lips. The salt stung.

Ziva rubbed her stomach again. She was wearing a maternity t-shirt that Breena had dropped off, not long after they had announced the pregnancy. It was a light pink color, not a colour Ziva usually wore.

"Is she moving?" he asked.

The baby had started moving recently. Slight movements which he could not yet feel. Sometimes he put his hand out onto her swollen belly, hoping to feel, longing to feel the movements.

He had witnessed Ziva feeling them. She would slip into herself, like when the memories got too much, but instead she broke out into smiles. She had also started humming to the baby. He came home from work, to find her sitting on the couch, humming to the little creature inside of her.

He had found himself feeling excluded. The baby was so real to Ziva.

More real for Ziva.

For Tony the baby was still so abstract. A silhouette, that needed to be filled in. The in-depth ultrasound, had helped with that.

The grainy image on the screen was the best picture he had ever seen. Even thinking about it, made his breath hitch in his throat.

Ziva gulped. Then she rubbed where her heart would sit. She dove under the table, and collected her purse. He watched as Ziva pulled the foil off from the antacid roll.

"Heartburn?" he asked.

Parenting, Tony and Ziva had agreed would be a sum of equals. Both Tony and Ziva had been raised in homes, with fathers who barely knew how to change a diaper.

Tony intended to be the Dad who knew how to do all the caring tasks, and would do as many sleepless nights as Ziva. They had both made her, they would both care for her. He would change as many, if not more diapers than Ziva.

At the moment, he was on the outside. Ziva was doing the heavy lifting.

Pregnancy had been a wild ride.

"Yes," Ziva said. "And to answer your earlier question, I can feel little movements."

He nodded.

He felt a pang of jealousy. Ziva and the baby were already so close. By sheer proximity, and pure biology.

"They didn't look little on the screen," he said.

He had watched the image of the baby on the screen. It looked like an alien, just like Jimmy had warned him. The baby had kicked and moved. It had silenced him. It was so amazing.

He was already so in love.

The doctor and the tech had taken notes. Ziva had watched them, ears picking up when the doctor asked to take a second look.

Ziva was so sure this was going to end in tears. So sure that the baby would get taken away.

The second look, had been just to confirm. Nothing had been wrong.

"I have been warned it will get more noticeable," Ziva said.

She took another fry. The antacid had done its job.

Tony had watched a video of a huge pregnant stomach, the baby feet kicking. Stretching the skin out. The faceless parents, were talking and laughing.

Tony could not wait for that.

He could not wait for the baby.

The food that she had actually ordered appeared and her face lit up again.

What's mine is yours, Tony thought.

He rubbed his wrist. Ziva had gripped it tightly, nails digging into his wrist. Leaving crescent moons on his skin.

She had held tight, as the tech pushed the ultrasound wand into her belly.

She was so afraid that the life inside her would be silent.

She was so sure that she did not deserve this baby.

They talked about Ziva's blood pressure, which was skirting into the concerning territory. They were going to put her on some medication. Hopefully, it would be a temporary measure. There were no other signs of the more preeclampsia, which was a relief.

Tony had let out a breath when the doctor had said that. He had known little about pregnancy before Ziva had gotten pregnant, but the Dad Blog he now followed, had recently done a story on preeclampsia. It had scared Tony.

Eventually, the ultrasound tech had asked if they wanted to know the sex. They had given an enthusiastic yes.

They had talked about this, wanting to be prepared. Wanting to know.

Tony had sucked in a breath, and the tech had announced that it was a girl. It had been anti-climatic, in the doctor's office. They still had half an hour of the appointment to go.

Maybe, that was why people did the coloured cupcakes and balloon confetti, he decided.

Maybe, next time he thought.

They had always planned children in plural.

Two, or maybe even three, if they were feeling greedy. They wanted a loud house, tiny hands, and little baby curls.

They wanted to give their children, the childhood's they had never had.

But, if they only ever has this baby, Tony would be okay.

His daughter. How he already loved his daughter.

"I'm sure baby will be nice to her Mom," he said.

He had a family. A wife, and a daughter on the way.

Tony felt a lump in his throat. Gibbs had a wife, and daughter once too.

Tony reached across the table, and took Ziva's hand. Trying to banish the dark thought.

Tony had a wife, and a daughter on the way. A family.

"Ima," Ziva corrected. "I would like her to call me Ima."

He nodded.

A few weeks ago in the cosy bed and breakfast where they had gotten married, they had talked about raising this child in a Jewish home, which included Ziva being known as 'Ima', and having a naming ceremony when the baby was born. He had known, back when this baby was still hypothetical that Ziva wanted to raise the baby Jewish, but had not looked into what that would actually mean.

Since, that conversations, he started to research what it all meant. He had downloaded an audiobook about raising Jewish babies for his long commute to work. The book was dated, with references to fax machines, but Tony had listened. Tony had learnt, even though they said you could not teach an old dog new tricks.

He had felt connected, as he had listened.

Tony had a wife, and a daughter on the way. A Jewish daughter.

A daughter who would have the Hanukkah flames reflect in her eyes. A daughter who would sit on Tony's lap, during the long Passover Seder. A daughter they were going to welcome into the world with a reading from the Torah.

It would be Rosh Hashanah on the upcoming weekend. He had seen Ziva looking at a recipe for an apple honey cake. Ziva was not much of a baker, preferring cooking because it was less exact.

Ziva bit into her burger. Some of the tomato sauce dripped onto the fries.

Of course, Ziva's celebrations would not be at the expense of his. Their little girl would know Christmas lights, and Easter baskets.

Christmas Daddy, and Hanukkah Ima.

"I'm sure she'll be nice to her Ima," he declared.

Ziva put the burger down. The heartburn acting up again.

"I doubt that," Ziva said, with a smile. "But, it will be worth it."

The sickness, the heartburn, and the hip pain. It would all be worth it.

He took a bite of his own burger. Tony's eyes flitted around the restaurant, which called itself a bistro, so that it could charge more than a diner, but still serve burgers. Money had been no object, when they were finally released from the doctors appointment. Tony had collected Ziva's prescription, and Ziva had finally gone to the bathroom. Once she barrelled out of the bathroom, she had declared herself starving.

The bistro was opposite the doctors office. Tony knew better than to let Ziva get too hungry.

"Are you glad you were right?" She asked.

He wiped his face with his napkin.

"Kinda," he said. "I'm really just glad everything looks okay."

A daughter. He was having a daughter.

Ziva dipped her fry in her sauce.

"Yes," she said. "The baby is healthy. I am relieved..."

Her voice drifted off.

The doctor had added an extra appointment to the schedule. They were watching her blood pressure. The doctor had cautioned them that Ziva might end up on bed rest.

Ziva took another fry from his plate.

"You'll be okay too," he said.

Ziva nodded.

She was floating out to sea. He had reached out, but could not reach.

He needed to paddle, to catch up to her, and tug her into shore.

"I'm kinda glad we don't have to talk about circumcision this time," he said. "I mean we've got enough going on."

Ziva's eyes widened.

Maybe, he shouldn't have talked about further children, while the first was still on the inside.

"It's not that I don't agree with circumcision," Tony clarified, knowing he was not just talking about circumcision. "Just not at home."

Ziva took a sip of her water. It was ice cold, with a lemon on the side. She stuck her tongue out as she tasted the lemon.

"You're right, we do not have to worry about that this time," Ziva said, the bitterness from the lemon in her voice. "Nor do we have to worry having the baby at home."

Ziva had started looking into birth plans after prompts from various people already in the parent club. She had told him point blank that she did not want an epidural. He had not been surprised. Ziva could handle pain. He promised he would not say anything if she did want the epidural in the end.

Then, as they enjoyed an anniversary picnic on the property where they had gotten married, she had declared that she would like to plan for a homebirth. In the weeks, since they had returned home, she had started showing him blogs of birth stories. There were pictures of women sitting in massive paddling pools in their living rooms holding very newly born babies.

Tony had reminded her that babies were born at hospital. Ziva had reminded him that she was born at home, even if that had been more of an emergency than a plan. Ziva had always in a rush, even on the day she was born.

"I know you wanted that," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

It had taken him a while, to get his head around the idea, but he had done his own research, find blog post written by Dads who had helped with a homebirth. He saw the benefits. Neither of them liked hospitals very much.

She looked down at her food.

"It would not be safe," she said. "Not, for the baby."

At first he had been confused when Ziva had announced she wanted to have the baby at home. She had become obsessed by the baby, and her health. She worried about birth defects or other ways tragedy might befall them.

Eventually, they had talked about it. Ziva had revealed that she wanted to have the baby at home, because it would be safe. For her. She did not have to worry about being somewhere new, while being so vulnerable.

If they had the baby, she felt she would be in control. In a place she felt safe.

Hearing those words had broken his heart.

"Things might change," he offered. "You heard what the doctor said."

Ziva was in the vicinity of high risk, but not quite there. The doctor would monitor her.

"It is okay," she said, to quickly. "We should focus on all the good things. The hospital where my doctor has privileges is very nice. I still would like to avoid an epidural, and unnecessary intervention. My doctor supports that."

A part of him was glad, that they would be in a hospital for the birth. Where there were doctors and nurses to rescue them if they got into trouble. Maybe, Ziva's anxiety about pregnancy had infected him too.

Tony rather liked Ziva's doctor, a woman who close in age to him, and had multiple certificates lining her office. Ziva and her doctor had an easy rapor, which soothed Tony. Ziva's doctor had been with them for a while, and knew the different steps their journey had taken.

"Not this time," she said wistfully.

Tony felt the pangs on his heart.

She had wanted this so much.

Next time was not guaranteed.

"Okay," he said. "We'll talk about it more."

Ziva nodded.

"A girl," Ziva said, after a couple of quiet moments.

She stuffed a handful of fries into her mouth.

A daughter.

A little her.

"Yeah," he said. "The baby feels more real now."

Ziva rubbed her stomach. The baby was already real to her.

"I know she's already pretty real to you," he said. "But, now I can imagine things. All that Daddy and Daughter stuff."

Ziva smiled. Then the smile fell as he continued.

Eli David did not do princess tea parties. Eli David did not lift his daughters in the air and spin them around making them giggle, like Tony had seen Jimmy do at a family event.

"Little girls love their fathers," Ziva said. Her voice got distant.

Was she thinking about Eli or Gibbs.

Gibbs the daughterless father.

Ziva and Gibbs tried to be that for each other, but it would always be the square pegs trying to fit into the round hole.

"I won't be like your Dad," he said. He had made this promise before.

Ziva looked away. Across the other table. Through the window. To the busy street.

"You know I'm was sort of hoping she would be a girl," Tony said. His heart in his throat. "Not just because I wanted to be right, but because having a girl feels like we're breaking the cycle. DiNozzo fathers and sons have a lot of history. And, you know what they say about history repeating itself."

Senior was less likely to hurt a granddaughter than he would his son.

Tony had worried about having son, whether he would become just like his father.

"I thought you and your father were doing well," Ziva said, as she turned back to him.

Tony would always be ten years old, and waking up alone in a hotel room in Maui.

"We are," Tony said. "We're good. But, I just thought it might be harder if we had a boy."

Tony was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"My mother and I, did not always have the best relationship," Ziva whispered. Her voice was tight. "Girls and their mothers often struggle."

Tony swallowed thickly. Three was an odd number, would their lives always be two versus one. An uneven stool, which never sat right.

"That was to do with your father, wasn't it?" Tony asked.

Ziva looked away.

"Yes," Ziva said softly. "I suppose in part it was. We were so different. I did not see things from her side."

Tony swallowed thickly.

"You were a kid," he offered. "Nobody expects you to see things from your parents point of view."

Ziva nodded.

"I know," Ziva said softly. "Still, I wish I had."

He reached across the table, and rubbed her hand. Her shoulders slumped, and she turned back to him. A plastered smile on her face. Ziva never lingered in the past too long.

"Just because the baby is a girl does not mean it will all be tea parties and princesses," Ziva declared. "I hated dresses as child."

Tony smiled. He could imagine a little Ziva, dark curls and adventurous spirit.

"She'll be just like her Ima," he said.

Who would the baby look like, he wondered. Her dark curls or his sandy hair.

Would she like movies like him?

Would she have her mother's talent for languages? Her mother's impossible strength.

"I do not want her to be entirely like me," Ziva said softly. "I want her to be her own person."

Ziva took a sip of water.

"She will be," Tony said. "She'll be a piece of you, and a piece of me, all mixed up together, to make something amazing."

They had made something amazing together.

"We should not paint the nursery pink," Ziva declared. "Just to be safe."

The previous weekend, they had made progress on the basement. The two of them had gone on the most suburban of missions, to the hardware store. They had been there to decide on a color for the basement, wanting to find something which made the low ceilings look higher. While deciding between fifty shades of off white, they had found themselves moving toward the colours listed as for the nursery, soft greys, light blues, and peaceful greens.

"We could have a look over the weekend," he said. They had already half made that plan during their weekend away.

She opened her mouth to say something to protest, but let out a sigh instead of speaking.

"That is a good idea," she declared. "We need to get so much done before she is here."

Ziva was always hesitant to buy anything for the baby. She called it old Jewish superstition, claiming that nobody bought anything for their babies before they arrived. Somehow, her logic did not include preparing the house. She had listed down all of the household projects they needed to get done before the baby arrived.

"She," he said softly.

They were having a daughter.

His phone buzzed. A message from his Dad, a dozen notifications on the app the family kept in touch on, and a message from his work colleague Dan.

Everyone knew what Tony and Ziva were doing today. Everyone was desperate to know. Boy or girl?

Ziva looked longingly toward the counter. There was a dessert menu written on a blackboard.

"Still hungry?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

She nodded.

He let out a tiny laugh.

"A little," she said.

He looked at the chaos on the table. Ziva had demolished most of her lunch and half of his fries, despite the heartburn.

"Is the baby hungry?" He asked.

"She is," Ziva replied enthusiastically.

Tony waved down the waitress.

Ziva pulled out her phone.

"Did Dad text you too?" He asked.

Ziva nodded, she showed him the message section of her phone.

"And Abby," Ziva replied, scrolling through her phone. "And Breena."

Their daughter would know so much love. And, so many strong women.

"Shall we keep them in suspense?" Tony asked.

Jimmy and Breena had done the whole balloon confetti thing. Maybe, they could present all of their friends with cupcakes, with pink icing.

"You are not good with secrets," Ziva said. "I cannot see you holding out until February."

She was right. The pregnancy had been hard enough to keep quiet.

The baby's due date was the last week of February, but the baby would be considered full-term the same week as Valentine's Day. If the baby required an early eviction, being born on Valentine's Day would be cute.

"You will burst," she continued.

Pink cupcakes, he thought to himself. He could see all of the teams happy faces as they opened the box.

"Maybe, we can keep the secret until the holidays," he replied. "Then announce it, nothing too over the top, maybe give everyone a cupcake with pink icing."

The family were going to have a Thanksgiving dinner in Ducky's Georgetown condo. It would be more of a pot luck than three course affair of previous years, because of the growing guestlist. Delilah's mother and Tony's Dad had been accepted into the wider family.

It would busy and loud. Leyla's spicy rice, mixed with Ziva's baked vegetables and the traditional turkey.

Christmas would be at Gibbs' house, and a Hanukkah party would be held later that week at David DiNozzo dream house.

It would be the type of family event Tony had always dreamed of. Big, loud, and busy.

"Okay," Ziva said. A warm smile on her face. "I like the idea of the cupcakes."

Tony let out a half-laugh. Ziva was ravenous these days.

"A girl," Tony said, again.

They were going to have a daughter.

 **A/N**

I don't own a thing.

Thank you so much for all of the love, whether they are from reviews, likes or tweets.

Next chapter will be posted next week. I'm hoping to have two chapters up during the Easter long weekend.


	16. A Full Table

Ziva stared out into the screened porch, from her spot in the kitchen. It was mid October, in a few short weeks, the screened porch would move from her favourite reading spot, to a thoroughfare from the garage to the warm house. Soon her ornate Persian rug, would be streaked with mud, and salt from the sidewalk.

Another season would pass. By the time the cherry blossoms peaked the baby would be here.

Her daughter would grow up singing songs about all four seasons. In a world so different from Ziva's childhood, where winter brought the rain, and the desert became fertile. Flowers bloomed.

Her daughter would grow up in such a different world from Ziva's.

Splashing in spring puddles. Complaining about a humid summer. Crunching on autumn leaves. Making snow people with white snow that blanketed the backyard every February.

She splashed the water in the sink. She had made no progress on the oven tray, which had melted cheese from the pizza she had made for dinner. The kitchen still smelt faintly of yeast. The group had gorged on carbohydrates, pizza and sweet challah.

It was Friday. The Shabbat table had been busier than usual. Ellie and Abby had turned up, world weary from their latest case. Ziva had been so glad to see her friends. It had been so long since they had some girl time. The pregnancy made her so tired, and her friends worked eighty hour weeks. Still, when they did see each other, the thread of friendship was picked up, as if they had never been apart.

"Leave the dishes," Tony called from the kitchen island. The unofficial dividing line between the dining room and the kitchen, in their open plan home.

He crossed the kitching, leaving a wine glass on the island. In the first few months of pregnancy, Tony had made a big show of not drinking in solidarity with Ziva. Ziva did not mind that Tony drunk, knowing it was something he enjoyed. As the weather cooled, and the pregnancy progressed Tony's had permitted himself the occasional glass. Especially, as Senior brought the finest wines to Friday dinner.

The baby kicked. She often did when Tony spoke. Ziva wondered if the baby knew that Tony was her father, half the reason she was going to come into the world.

"I do not want this to stick," she said unconvincingly.

She cared about her baking dish, but not that much. If it became spoiled, she would just as happily go to big box store, leaving Tony at home because he had not self-control in the brightly lit aisles. Nowadays, whenever Ziva had to nip into the store, she found herself taking long. Not just because pregnancy made her walk slower, but because she was unable to avoid the baby aisles. She found herself stroking the tiny baby onesies, and printed swaddle blankets.

He stood behind her, tenderly wrapping his arms around her. He smelt like wine, and tomato paste.

"You're making me look like a bad husband," he joked, as he rubbed her distended belly. She hated when people called it a bump. "Playing uno, while his pregnant wife is scrubbing the dishes."

She leaned into him. These days her movements were punctuated by aches and pain. Her back, her hip, and her feet.

She had brought herself a pair of winter boots that were size larger than normal to deal with the swelling in her feet. Now, everything she wore had an elastic waist. She had developed a maternity uniform, thick leggings and a tunic. She had not had to buy many maternity clothes, people tending to let her 'borrow' their old clothes. Ziva had learnt to embrace the flowers that tended to come with maternity clothes. It was just temporary, she had told herself.

"This can't be good for your back," he said softly.

He kept her close.

There was a noise from the living room.

"You can't do that," Ellie cried out, before beginning to count. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7,8."

Tony shifted slightly, looking back toward the living room.

"Who knew uno could turn into such a bloodbath?" Tony mumurred.

Ziva was not even sure where the uno cards had come from. Since, they had moved into the house a year ago things tended accumulate. Especially, as Tony was such a magpie always bringing something new and shiny into the house.

She knew Tony was enjoying every second of the game, even though he was not participating. This was what they wanted when they brought the home. Somewhere for their chosen family to gather. They wanted Friday dinners with a full table, that ran long into the night. They wanted game nights, and barbeques. In a few years they wanted to have kids running through the sliding doors, onto the deck, and out into the garden. Squeals and laughter following them.

"Ellie can very competitive," Ziva said.

Tony moved took her hands tenderly into his. The oven dish, remained submerged in the water. Ziva had read something about baking soda, but could not recall. Domestication, did not come easily.

"And, Dad is very good at cards," Tony replied.

Ziva snuggled into him. The kitchen by virtue of being tucked behind the stairs, had an almost privacy. From the sink, the other guests in the house could be heard, but not seen.

"You okay?" Tony asked. His voice was laced with concern.

Ziva let out a heavy breath. Inhale. Exhale.

"I will be," she said.

Years ago, before the wedding, before the baby, before the house in suburbia, they had made a promise to always be honest. Especially about feelings.

Not that Ziva wanted to lie to him. He was always so accepting of anything she told him. He was so loving.

"It's hard," Tony said softly. "Being on the outside."

Abby and Ellie had arrived at the David-DiNozzo dream house, with heavy hearts and dark ringed eyes. The team had worked on a harrowing case. A female petty officer, who had been found raped and murdered. The case was not a particularly unusual one, Ziva could remember working a handful of similar cases during her years as an agent, but what had spooked Ellie and Abby was the the petty officers killer turned out to be her ex boyfriend. Those cases were always the worst.

The petty officer had been murdered by a man she once loved. A man she let get close to her. A man she trusted.

"It is not just that," she admitted.

It had been over three years since she last wore the badge. She had worn that badge with pride, but then it got too much. The badge burned in her hand. She did not want to be the frog swimming in the milk as it became butter.

She was used to be on the outside of the case-chat. Tony was still adjusting, perhaps it was harder for him because he still worked within the same realm. Instead of working cases, he trained the next generation of agents to solve them.

"I saw your face when Ellie explained the case," he whispered.

She thought she had used what Tony called her Mossad face. Maybe, pregnancy as well as affecting how quickly her emotions surfaced, but also how she displayed them.

"I always hated those cases," Ziva admitted.

Abby's laugh echoed through the living room. Senior counted to eight.

Ziva felt her heart heave. There was so much joy around her, but she felt so empty.

She should be there, finding the joy.

"I know," Tony said softly.

Ziva had almost forgotten they used to work together. How far away their old life seemed.

"I know these type of cases are different for female agents," Tony admitted.

Ziva felt a pang of pride. The overgrown frat boy she had met over a decade ago, would not have had this same insight. Nor the acknowledgement that their time as agents was the same but different.

He had grown. Matured.

"I was never good at rule 10," she whispered. "Especially, with these sort of cases."

She thought of the cases she had not yet been able to let go of. Even as her world so drastically changed.

The Morgan Burke case had been one of those cases. Even now, Ziva could find her thoughts drifting to the vanished woman, especially now that Ziva was pregnant too.

Years ago, during one of those Krav Maga sessions that formed the basis of Ziva and Ellie's early friendship, Ziva had told Ellie about the Burke case. Ellie had been stressing about a mistake made on a case, convinced it would cost the team the case. Ziva had told her about her how she had never forgotten about Morgan Burke.

Then, as Ziva and Ellie's friendship grew, Ziva had told Ellie about the shack. It came as Ziva was debating what to do with it. She had paid the landlady two years in advance, not long after her father died, but since Ziva had laid down her guns, it had sat unused.

Even during the pursuit of Ilan Bodnar, she had not used the office, wanting to keep her office a safe place. Ilan was trained by her father too, he knew Ziva would have somewhere secret to hide in plain sight.

When, she had started her college classes, she had attempted to study in the office, but had found herself distracted. The room carried too many ghosts. Too many secrets.

In the end, after sparring with Ellie, and a few months before Ziva's unofficial lease, was up she had taken Ellie to the office. Ellie, ever enthusiastic had loved the cosy shack. She had always wanted an office, but had never been able to afford an apartment with room. She had made do with nooks.

 _A room of one's own_ , Ellie had quoted, as she looked at the rather glum plant on the desk.

In the end, Ellie had taken over the lease. The landlady had quite liked the idea, Ziva had been a better tennant than the writer with mild alcoholism she had leased the office out to previously. By giving the office to Ellie, it had been a metaphorical passing of the baton.

Ellie had promised to keep looking into the Morgan Burke case too.

"I always had a lot of trouble with that one," he replied, his voice drifting away.

Ziva listened as Senior declared uno, and then got hit by a draw two, by a gleeful Ellie.

Something so simple had brought so much laughter. So much joy.

Ellie and Abby had been so somber when the arrived for dinner. So tired of the world.

Ziva had planned to make moussaka for dinner, having had a craving for eggplant. In a happy coincidence she had found the perfectly sized one in the grocery store. However, when her friends had arrived she had decided they needed to beat something. She had enlisted them to help her fight against the setting sun.

She hoped that kneading the dough, would lift some of the frustration.

She knew why the case had affected them so badly. For Abby it was matter of the past, the Michael Mawer affair had been over a decade ago, but it had taken so long for Abby to feel safe again. It was the summer after, when Gibbs was on his sangria sabbatical, that Ziva and Abby finally started to become friends. Ziva had helped Abby feel safe, by teaching her how to defend herself. It had been the start of a beautiful friendship.

For Ellie, it was a matter of the future. She had started dating a translator from NCIS, who had recently returned to D.C. He had been the first person she had dated since her marriage had broken up. The first time she let someone get as close as Jake once had. So much about Ellie's new boyfriend, was unknown, what if he was wearing a mask, and one day he let it slip.

They lived in a world where some men hurt women.

"The case they were talking about," Ziva declared, as she moved out of Tony's embrace, and leaned on the sink. So that they were facing each other. He was tired, more than that end of the weak tiredness. "It brought up a lot of things."

Some men killed women. Women that they loved.

Tony had never been violent with her, never so much as slammed a door not since they got together. They'd had heated arguments but they were always contained.

Still, it was a fear, that she was sure most women had in the back of their heads. What if the safe and happy home, they had built suddenly became the opposite.

Once, when they were sparring. Michael Rivkin had held her down on the mat. Longer than he needed too. He had pressed her hands into the mat, and a dark look had crossed his face. It had been best of three, and Ziva had won the first two fights. She let him win the third one, knowing that he would feel emasculated if she beat him again.

She had seen that darkness then. The hairs on the back of her neck had stood up, and she pushed him off.

There had been a time with Ray too. When they were fighting, as the fairytale they built for themselves started to crumble. A case had come between them. His hands had grabbed her wrists, digging his fingers in.

"You okay?" he asked. Genuine concern on his face.

She was at the stage of pregnancy where her hormones made her either hungry or horny, and gave her crazy dreams. She had not had nightmares, in the way she knew them, with flashbacks to that dusty cell, but she knew they were coming.

She swallowed thickly.

"Sometimes the world feels so horrible," she admitted.

She heard heartbreaking stories at her new job too. Women raped by invading armies. Women who buried children. Women who did not know where their husbands were. Ziva's main job was to help them learn English, but that was double edged sword, because now they had the words to describe their hurt.

Their hurt stung Ziva.

"I do not know what sort of world we are bringing her into," Ziva declared.

The baby kicked. Hard. She was going to join them, regardless of the state of the world.

Tony placed his hand on her belly.

The dead petty officer had been somebody's daughter. Once upon a time, her parents had probably had the same conversations Tony and Ziva sometimes had. Who would the baby look like? Who would they be like?

The killers parents had probably had the very same conversations.

We are all somebody's child.

Ziva had always know the facts of biology, one new person came from the melding of two people. Everyone was somebody's son or daughter. She was just more conscious of it, in her current state.

She knew from her introduction to psychology class, and just intuitively, that nobody was a product of either genetics or environment.

Still, how could she knowingly bring a baby into the world. A baby girl. A baby girl, who would grow into a child full of questions about the world, and then if everything worked out, that little girl would grow into a woman.

Not every little girl got to become a woman. Some were killed with their mothers, after their mother reported a crime. Some were blown up on a bus taking them home, with the algebra textbook on her lap.

Still, they were bringing a girl into the world. Into a world where some men hurt women they loved.

"There's plenty of good too," he assured her.

 _You must find the joy_ , had been among Schmeil's final words.

Ellie and Abby laughed in the other room. They had ganged up to on Senior to make him pick up half a dozen cards. The heaviness they had come with seemingly melted away.

"I know," she said.

And, she did. There were beautiful places both near and far away, that Tony wanted show the baby. There were people who already had their arms and hearts open for this baby.

This baby would know so much love.

"There is just so many things out there in the world," Ziva finally said. "So many bad things."

Tony looked at her with a sad look. His lips drooped with a frown. His eyes darkened.

She wished she had his optimism.

"We'll protect her from all of that," he said.

Ziva's eyes flitted around the room. This house. They had curated this to be their little fortress, a haven from the horrors of the world. Their house would be filled with love.

"We cannot keep her locked in the house for her whole life," she said.

There was a fairytale about that. A princess locked away.

"I know," he said softly. "But, we can teach her about the world, and how to survive."

 _Every day is a battle to survive_ , had been her fathers mantra.

He had told her that, as he corrected her stance when she held the gun. When he made her run until she collapsed. She had to be the fastest. To be the best. So her father could martyr her for the country.

"I do not want to teach her how to fight," Ziva admitted.

Ziva had laid down her guns. She had broken the cycle. Her daughter would not need to fight. Her daughter would spend her childhood riding bikes and through sprinklers. She would never hold a gun.

"We'll teach her self-defense," Tony said. "And how to tell is someone is a good person."

The petty officer, had thought her killer had been a good person. She had trusted him. Maybe he had been a good person. Ziva knew, perhaps better than anyone that very few people were wholly evil. People made good and bad decisions. Circumstances forced peoples hands.

"And, we'll teach her that she can always come back to us," Tony said softly. "We'll always be here for her. Whatever happens."

Ziva felt a prick in her eye.

Tony moved slightly closer. He looked at her.

"And, we'll make sure she knows all the women we know," he said, his hand tenderly on her belly. "She'll know strong women."

Her breath hitched.

This was the same man who had made lewd jokes, and treated women like tissues. How much he had grown. How far they had come.

"Just like her Ima," he whispered.

Ziva placed her hand over his.

"I do not want her to be like me," Ziva said softly.

Ziva had known so much pain. She had seen too much of the horrors of the world. Ziva had done so many bad things.

"You're the strongest person I know," he admitted softly. "Of course I want our daughter to have some of your strength."

So much of her strength had come from surviving. She never wanted her daughter to know that pain.

She wanted her daughter to only know the good in the world.

To know the joy.

"I want her to be like you," Ziva said softly.

To be the wild card. To not accept the odds she was given. To always fight for better. There was so much strength in that.

"Well lets hope she inherits your hairline," Tony joked, as he moved his head up to his own hair. His hair was thinning out, unlike his father's.

There was no more noise from the living room.

Out of the corner of her eye. Ziva saw Abby's dark pigtails, and then Senior. Ellie was trailing behind.

"Junior," Senior muttered. "Sound really carries down here. Might want to keep that in mind for when the rugrat joins you."

Tony sprung from Ziva, to look at their friends and family.

Senior had a warm smile on his face. Abby and Ellie kept looking at each other, almost giggling. The two of them had enjoyed the bottle of wine they had brought. Ziva had already offered them the other guest room, the one they were planning to turn into a nursery, not wanting her tired friends to drive home. Not wanting them to be alone. Senior would stay too, like he often did sleeping in the actual guest room. In the morning, they would use up the extra challah to make French toast. The house would be full of life. Like it was alway meant too.

"Is the baby a girl?" Abby asked. She was practically bursting.

Ziva felt a smile cross her own face.

"Yes," Ziva said.

The baby kicked.

Tony wrapped his arm around Ziva.

"Is it supposed to be secret?" Ellie asked.

She had told the dinner party, all about her niece and two nephews born from her oldest brother. She was familiar with the different ways people choose to announce their babies sex. Abby's only niece was already a tween, so Abby was not as familiar with the parental politics of a gender reveal.

"Not really," Tony said softly. "We were going to bring everyone cupcakes at Thanksgiving, even got one which Jimmy could eat."

Since, Jimmy and Breena had welcomed Tori into their world, Jimmy had been even more concerned about his diet. His well-managed mild diabetes was a ticking time-bomb, only to get worse with age. Jimmy had all but given up carbs, eating keto. Breena had joined the bandwagon, wanting to shift the baby weight. The last ten pounds seemed stuck on.

"We won't tell," Abby said.

Ziva let out a heart laugh. Abby was bad with secrets.

"A girl," Senior breathed. His eyes were gleaming.

Tony wrapped his arm tighter around Ziva.

"Yeah Dad," Tony said softly. "A girl."

Senior broke out into a smile.

"I always wanted a granddaughter," he murmured. "Your mother did too."

Ellie and Abby shot each other a look. This was private family moment, they were interlopers.

Tony stayed focused on his father.

"Now we know what to buy," Abby squealed, focused on Ziva. They were in one room, but there were two conversations going on. "Headbands. Imagine if the baby gets your hair, it will be so cute."

"No headbands," Ziva declared.

Tori Palmer had been born without much hair and her parents had dressed her in headbands to distinguish that she was in fact a girl.

Ellie laughed.

"My niece hated them, my sister-in-law gave up on them two days in," Ellie declared. "People called my niece a boy, but she didn't care. She's still hates anything pink and frilly."

Ziva nodded. She liked Ellie's tales of her stable midwestern family. Of her brother and sister-in-law who had married in their early twenties, and popped out three children in reasonable succession. Of her other two brothers who were doting Uncles. It was all so normal.

"Knowing our luck," Ziva said, cradling her belly. "She will end up being a little princess."

The baby kicked. Acknowledging that she was being talked about.

Tony turned back to her. A smile on his face. Ziva did not often talk about the baby, imagining her. Not like sometimes did. He often cradled her belly, and spoke to the creature inside. The baby heard all about Tony's day, and his boring colleagues.

"We'll adore her either way," Tony said softly.

Ziva looked at him. This baby would know so much love, from so many different people.

"We will," she replied.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Thanks so much for the lovely reviews.

I'm hoping to do a double update during Easter. We'll have a chapter with McGee soon, I know he's been pretty left out lately. We've got a few more chapters before the baby is actually here, including one featuring Ziva at her new job which will be published in a few weeks.

Just a reminder, this fic pretty much ignores all cannon after 10x24. Though I do borrow the occasional piece of cannon, such as the Morgan Burke case, and some of the newer characters.


	17. Pictures of Us

Tony walked up the stairs of the basement, scratching the dried paint on his forehead. The white flakes spilled onto the floor. It was the last Sunday of October. Abby had held her annual Halloween party the night before, even though Halloween fell on a Monday that year. Tony had made the most of Ziva being unable to drink and let her drive. He had drunk one too many beers, and was feeling the effects. He was getting to old for this.

Abby had insisted on buying Tony and Ziva some costumes to wear, and had presented Ziva with a black skeleton t-shirt, with a baby skeleton underneath the ribs. Tony had been given a matching skeleton shirt, without the skeleton baby. Abby had thought it was the best thing ever. The baby skeleton even had a pink bow on its head. Tony wondered if Abby had gotten them custom made. It had been there that they had told everyone who did not already know that Baby DiNozzo would be a girl. They still planned to bring pink iced cupcakes to Thanksgiving, to make the official announcement.

He reached the top step of the stairs, and stood still for a moment. The dishwasher hummed. The dryer buzzed through the open door to the utility closet that was tucked behind the kitchen.

Ziva was sitting on the dining table. Boxes piled around her.

"All done," he declared as she looked up. "You were right about the colour."

They had been making the most of the extra income Ziva was bringing in, and had gone full steam ahead with the renovations. Most of what they had done was cosmetic. Painting walls, and changing handles on the dated kitchen cabinets.

The basement had been the biggest project, and when they first brought the house they had decided to complete that project during the upcoming summer, once Ziva had completed her whirlwind degree. Then Schmeil had died, and Ziva had gotten pregnant, and so they had discussed moving the project to the following summer. Decorating the nursery and baby proofing had been more pressing.

Tony had thrown himself full force into the baby related projects, and they were almost all done. The nursery had been painted a soft green colour, and the folding bed that used to live there had been moved to the basement. It had been than that Tony had stood in the basement and decided it had to be done, before the baby came.

It had to be done before the baby came.

The baby was coming.

Ziva was less urgent about the whole thing, but she did like helping him wash off all the paint he managed to get on himself.

The past few weeks had brought such crazy mood swings.

Ziva moved from hungry to horny in quick succession. She also had reverted back to some her ninja ways, managing to make him jump even with the extra weight she was carrying.

"Can I see?" she asked.

The previous owners, by virtue of having the house for forty years had redecorated a few times, but the basement had been a time capsule. The whole lower floor had been clad in wood paneling, making it look like something out of the later seasons of Mad Men. It had served as office for the previous owner, who had been a plumber, and then when he had retired it had become a man cave, and storage space. Ziva had hated the lower floor, calling it a cave.

When Tony and Ziva first moved in, it had become a storage space. Neither of them owned much furniture, and they had been slow about acquiring it, but both of them had a handful of boxes. But, by virtue of having the space they felt the need to fill it. They even had a couple of boxes that belonged to their friends; old books from Ducky, and old computer parts that belonged to McGee and Delilah, and did not have a place to go in their renovated apartment.

There were also the mystery boxes, belong to Ziva who tended not to hang on to things. The boxes had turned up one day with some file boxes, with Ziva saying she had cleared out an old storage place, before they moved in. She had never explicitly told him not to go into them, and had explained the boxes were filled with things from her life as a agent. Still, Tony had not peaked.

"Soon," he said. "The fumes are pretty strong."

Tony had found himself getting woozy in the underground room. The room had a low ceiling, and only a couple of windows. Their lot was pretty flat, so their basement was daylight rather than a walk out. The previous owner had retrofitted a egress window to the side, but that did not help the claustrophobic feeling the low-ceilined space invited.

The light off-white colour Tony had painted, would hopefully help with that. He wanted them to use the space, especially as winter set in and their family grew. Tony had visions of family movie nights, and of some the basement being sectioned off into a playroom, for when the baby got big, and the winter cold.

He moved closer to Ziva, taking in the scene.

The dining table was mess. Some notebooks, photographs, and a plate littered the table.

"Have we got any cake left?" Tony asked, as he looked at the empty plate, which had a few crumbs on it.

Ziva shook her head. A smile on her face.

Ducky had turned up at their door for Friday dinner. He was recently returned from a two-week tour of Europe, doing all the things he had put off for the years when he was the head ME. He had turned up with a cake, as a hostess gift.

Tony was glad for the quieter dinner. October had been a busy month. They had been invited to large Rosh Hashanah seder by the Rabbi who married them. It had been a busy dinner party, with Tony feeling out of place even among the diverse party. Ziva had agreed with him that future celebrations would be smaller. Senior had joined them for Sukkot, which Tony had insisted on celebrating, even though Ziva had reminded him it was a minor holiday. Tony had built a Sukkah on the patio under supervision, from Ziva. The plan had been eat under there, then the wind had picked up, and the dinner had moved inside.

"I'll forgive you," he purred.

They were both piling on the pounds since Ziva got pregnant. He definitely did not need the cake.

Tony surveyed the mess of the main floor. Ziva's job in the basement renovation, had been to go through the boxes, and decide what was going to fill the faux built-ins that lined the longest wall of the basement.

Ziva had taken it as an opportunity to clean out Tony's DVD collection, claiming none of it sparked joy. Tony had cursed the damn Japanese decluttering book, Ziva had borrowed from Breena and gotten the idea from.

"The baby was hungry," she declared, with a smile on her face.

Tony moved a box from the dining chair, and sat on it.

He had opened the boxes and put them all on chairs, so that there was no danger of Ziva trying to lift them.

Ziva was under instructions to empty the boxes, and not to lift anything over ten pounds.

Ziva looked at him, a smile on her face.

"Were you?" he asked directing his voice to her bump. He placed a hand on her belly. The baby kicked.

It had only been in the last few days that he had been able to feel the kicks. The first time it had happened it had taken his breath away. Ziva was less amazed. The kicks had gotten harder and stronger, and the baby treated Ziva's bladder like a soccer ball.

Ziva smiled at him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, turning his face back up to his wife. "Other than eating us out of house and home."

Ziva adjusted her cardigan, one of the few non maternity items she could still wear.

"I found some things," she declared.

Tony reached over the table, and picked up some photographs. He was greeted by a photo of a preschool age Ziva, with her hair pulled into uneven braids, sitting next to Schmeil as he read from a book. A huge picture book with a bunny rabbit in human clothes.

"You were a cute kid," he said softly.

Would the baby be this cute?

Ziva smiled.

"This photograph means so much more, now," Ziva admitted.

Schmeil had died only a few months ago. So much had changed since then.

"I'm pretty sure we have a spare photo frame," Tony said, as he stroked the photo. Schmeil with his salt and pepper hair. Ziva in her garishly bright eighties ensemble. "We always said we should put more photos up."

Above the piano by the front window, was a photograph of Tony and Ziva at their wedding. They had gotten a mostly digital photo package, and had shared many of the photos with their friends. The photo they had chosen to get printed, was not a photo only of Tony and Ziva. Instead it was a photograph of the two of them under the chuppah, with all of their friends and family around them. Everyone around them was smiling.

It had been such a happy day.

"No," Ziva said. "We need to take new photos. I want to put new photos up."

Tony nodded.

"Okay," he said. He rubbed her stomach again. "Did ya hear that baby? You're going to have to get used to the flash of a camera."

Ziva smiled, and rubbed her stomach again.

"I was pretty good at crime scene photos," Tony said softly. "I'm sure I can use those skills for family pictures."

His time as agent seemed so long ago. A lifetime ago.

He put the photo of Schmeil behind another photograph, and saw a photo of Ziva and her sister. The two girls were still children, their eyes innocent and they were wearing smart dresses. Tony could see a splotch of dirt on Ziva's dress. Her knee high socks were at her ankles. Tali on the other hand, looked like a doll, not a hair out of place.

"I don't think I've seen this one before," Tony declared.

Ziva looked at the picture. A slight smile on her face, as she studied the picture. Memory was so bittersweet.

"When we were in the farmhouse," Ziva started. "After Schmeil-."

He watched as her breath hitched. Schmeil's death had been peaceful, and almost expected but it was still so recent. Everything was so raw.

"I found some more photographs," Ziva said, finding composure. "I brought all of them home."

Tony rubbed her hand.

Home. They had built a home.

"I wanted them all to be together," Ziva said softly. "It is silly."

He squeezed her hand.

He moved the photo behind the others, and found a photograph that was older than Ziva. Her father and mother standing under a chuppah. Eli with his hair long, one arm in a sling, and a kippah on his head. Ziva's mother with her baby face was wearing an off-white smocked style dress, trying to hide the early stages of her pregnancy. Tony recognised Ziva's Aunt Nettie as one of the people holding up the chuppah. Eli was smiling. Rivka was smiling too. They looked happy.

Perhaps they had once been.

"It's not," he said. "But, we should find somewhere better to store all of these."

Ziva nodded, stroking the photograph of her parents.

"I saw a photo album in one of your boxes," Ziva said, pointing to a box that was at the end of the table, closer to the fire place.

His boxes had outnumbered hers three to one. He had over a decade more of memories, and had never moved countries, nor had an apartment blown up.

He got up, and walked toward the box, passing the piles of DVD's, with post-its on top that said 'donate'. He would have to rescue those before they went on a journey to Goodwill.

He picked up the photo album which was sitting on the top of yet more DVD's. Maybe Ziva had a point about the DVD's. After all, they were an old technology.

He studied the photo album, it was forest green with a gold framing. It was old, at least a decade Tony thought. He could not remember where it had come from.

He opened the cover, and saw a photo of his mother. Blonde hair, and a smile on her face. He tried to date it, based on how sick she looked. The sickness had swept over her so quickly.

"I think this might be Dad's," Tony said.

Senior had been living in Tony's apartment for almost a year, when Tony finally cleared out everything of his from his old home. Senior had not minded, he was paying rock bottom rent, and his own words traveled light. The apartment had become even more hotel like since Tony had taken his stuff out.

Tony turned over the plastic sleeve. The plastic crinkled in his hand.

Ziva got up, and waddled toward him. She was wearing a maternity shirt, that showed off her growing bosom. Her cardigan swished.

Tony was greeted by a photo of a much younger Abby, with her arms around a much younger him, in that dive bar they used to frequent. Before dive bars had become hipster cool.

Abby was fresh faced, and dressed more extremely. Tony tried to date the picture, 2002 or 2003, he decided. The Abby of 2003 would have been horrified by the Abby of 2016, and the colors she now wore.

"Or not," Ziva said, as she studied the picture on the next page.

Abby and Kate, were sitting together. Abby in a different outfit, but still in a completely black outfit. Kate was smiling.

Ziva's breath hitched. It always did when Kate came up, in conversation. Kate did not come up often.

"No," he murmured, as he wrapped his arm around Ziva.

Ziva's head leaned on his shoulder. She turned the plastic leaf, grimacing at the noise.

The next leaf held a photo of Tony, wearing dress police uniform.

Ziva made a whistling sound. Tony laughed. Those damn hormones.

"I think that was police academy graduation," he said.

How long ago that felt. Two lifetimes ago.

"You were very handsome," Ziva declared. Her cheeks flushed red.

Tony wondered if they would make a detour to the bedroom before he showed Ziva the painted basement.

"Still are," she said. Her voice breathy. She looked up at him. A familiar look in her eyes.

He laughed.

Those damn hormones.

"That was so long ago," he murmured.

Ziva calmed herself, and nodded.

"Time marches on," she declared.

Tony looked at the next photo. Him and his father dressed for a civil war reenactment.

Ziva let out a laugh.

"Now that I know your father, and a lot about the civil war" Ziva started. Holding her belly, as she laughed. "I can not imagine him reenacting the civil war."

Tony nodded, remembering one of the early cases they had worked together.

Ziva had studied American history, when she was studying for her citizenship exam, and also as an elective for her degree. She knew more than he did, despite American history being his birthright.

"He only did it for about a year," Tony admitted, the past playing his head like an old movie. "He was involved in this holiday apartment scheme, and was trying to get some of the guys who did the reenacting to invest. Those guys were loaded. I don't know if he even got the money, the hobby finished as quickly as it started."

Ziva pulled herself closer to him.

"Still, that year," he said, his voice drifting away, and sadness seeping in. "He took me out of school nearly every weekend."

That had been a good year. Tony had even entertained ideas, that maybe boarding school would not be so permanent.

Ziva rubbed his back.

He flicked the plastic sleeve, and found that the other side was empty.

The sticker on the inside of the photo album had said it could hold 100 photographs. So far it only held five. That made him sad.

Tony sighed, and looked to the other side of the table.

"How many photos do you have?" he asked.

Ziva pulled herself apart from him, and moved to the other side of the table.

"Two dozen," she said with a shrug. "Maybe."

Her family and those that were lost, had been reduce to twenty-four photographs.

She did not sit down, instead she weaved behind the stairs, and walked toward the down stairs bathroom.

He was familiar with this dance, as they baby grew bigger, Ziva's bladder had gotten smaller.

He moved toward her photographs, the photo album tucked under his arms.

The noise of the dryer was muffled, by the closing of the door.

When they had brought the house, Tony and Ziva had entertained the idea of ripping out the ground floor half-bathroom and laundry, to open up the space. They had decided they would extend the kitchen or create another seating area, and the laundry would be moved to the basement, like it had been originally.

As of yet, it had stayed put, because they did not yet have the money or energy for a big renovation. Now, that they had a year to sit with main floor laundry, they understood why the previous owners had moved the laundry upstairs. It was convenient.

"I was thinking shakshuka for dinner," Ziva declared, as the laundry room door opened again, and the noise of the dryer filled the room.

Tony looked to the sky, the sun was starting to set. His stomach rumbled. The spicy tomato dish sounded good on the cool autumn night. Maybe, he could convince her to add some ham, like he had seen in the newspaper.

"We have some leftover bread," Ziva said, as she appeared behind him, having collected a cookie along the way. "I might toast it."

Tony had lined up all of Ziva's photos on the table. All of the faces stared back at them. His eyes darted to the newer photos. The ones of the team. Abby and Ziva dressed to the nines at Jimmy and Breena's October wedding reception, once Harper Dearing had been killed, and NCIS was almost full rebuilt. Tony holding a teeny tiny Tori Palmer. Schmeil, Senior and Ziva in front of an old house in Italy, during the vacation where they had retracted the DiNozzo ancestor's pre Ellis Island steps.

All of those photos had been taken on phones, digitally.

"There was photo printing place near my college campus," Ziva explained. "I used to go there sometimes, when I needed to clear my head. Sometimes, I sent them to Schmeil. He liked actual photographs."

During the three years of Ziva's whirlwind degree, Tony had learnt she had many methods of procrastination. She would cook enough for an army, or go for long runs. The procrastination would end soon enough, usually after Ziva had admitted that she feared she would fail the test or essay she was studying for.

Despite the procrastination she had ended up with a 3.8 GPA. Even with the heavy course load, and everything that went on in their personal life during those three years.

"We should print more photos," he said.

He opened up the photo album to one of the empty plastic sleeve, and picked up one of the newer photos. A photo that he thought he had as much ownership over as Ziva, and slipped it into the empty sleeve.

"I thought we could put your pictures in here," Tony said softly. "To keep them safe."

Ziva sat down next to him. There were cookie crumbs on her t-shirt.

"I like that," she said, as she reached for the older photos. Her photos. "All the photos will be together."

She studied the picture of her mother, with grey streaks in her dark hair, and a teenage Ziva to her side. Teenage Ziva had a sullen look on her face.

"I thought," Tony started, as Ziva slipped her photo into the empty sleeve, and patted it. Tony flipped the page. "That when the baby is older, we can show her."

Ziva looked up at him. Her lip quivering.

"We can tell her stories," Tony said softly. "About all the people we once knew, and at least we'll be able to help her put a face to the name."

Ziva looked toward the photos on the table, and took in a deep breath.

There were so many people their daughter would not know, accept for stories and photographs.

"I only want to tell her good stories," Ziva said softly. "Even about people who did bad things."

She only wanted the baby to know about the good in the world.

Tony watched as she picked up a photo of Eli David's three children. Ari was an adult with dark hair, and a sullen expression. Ziva was fresh faced teenager, wearing an oversized army shirt as a fashion statement. Tali was an awkward tween with bad haircut, and a crater face.

A photo of Kate was going to be in the same photo album as a photo of her killer.

"Okay," he said. "But, I won't lie to her."

If she ever asked what happened to the woman named Kate in her parents photo album, Tony would tell his daughter she was killed. He would let Ziva take the lead in explain to the baby why her Uncle Ari had killed Kate.

Ziva nodded.

"Of course not," Ziva replied, stroking her stomach again. "But, I do not want her to be burdened by my past."

Tony nodded. A quiet came over them, as they filled the photo album. Sliding the photographs into the plastic sleeves.

Eli David would have no chance to hurt his grandchild, with his pathological patriotism. He would never demand his granddaughters loyalty.

When the DiNozzo child thought of her grandfather, she would think of Senior. Senior who promised to spoil the child. And, maybe Gibbs, if wanted the role that was up for grabs.

Eli David would be just another person in her parents photo book. A ghost who could not haunt her.

Ziva slid the last photograph into a sleeve. It was a photo of Tony and Ziva, taken at Abby's fortieth birthday, less than a year after they had offically gotten together. Tony's arm was around Ziva. They were smiling, full beams of smiles. It was a simple picture but it was beautiful.

"I always liked this one," Tony said, as he looked at the photo.

Ziva smiled. A smile as big as the one in the picture.

"There are so many empty sleeves," she said.

They had so much life left to live.

"That's because we're not done taking photos," he said, his voice jovial. "I think by this time next year, this will be filled with baby pictures."

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

The next chapter will be up later this weekend, and will feature the McUncle.

Thank you so much for all of the reviews, love, and tweets. I'll catch up on review replies, soon. I promise.

For those celebrating Happy Easter.


	18. McUncle

"Down here, McUncle," Tony said, as he led his friend down the basement stairs. "You'll be amazed. Even Ziva likes it down here now."

McGee nodded, and quietly followed Tony.

Tony fiddled with the light switch and lit up the stairwell.

"It used to be so dark," Tony said, as he reached the bottom of the stairs, and turned on another light switch.

The basement was a daylight basement, so when the sky was grey, it needed artificial light, even in the middle of the day.

McGee reached the bottom of the stairs. Tony watched as McGee scanned the room.

Until his last apartment, Tony's decorating style had resembled a college dorm, perhaps as an act of preservation. College had been some of the best years of his life. He had finally stepped out of his Dad's shadow, and shaken the bullies from high school. Even if he had verged into borderline bully behaviour himself.

Then with his last apartment, he had embraced the monochrome art deco style, building the classy bachelor pad to rival those in the films he enjoyed. He had loved that place, it had been his santacry. Still he had done very little DIY in that apartment.

Then he and Ziva had brought this house. It was almost an hour out of the city. It was also, what Ziva had called a time capsule, with the previous owners decorating style having not evolved beyond the eighties.

Tony had thrown himself full force into bringing the house into the twenty-first century, mostly by himself. He had hired contractors for anything that involved electricity, but he had done most of the painting and furniture assembly himself. Between, her degree and then the pregnancy, Ziva had helped where she could.

"Wow," McGee finally said.

The walls were a light white-grey colour, which made the low ceilings look at least a foot taller. The basement was almost as many square feet as the upper floor, with almost all of it usable. Tucked behind the storage room.

"It's way different from when you were last here," Tony said.

McGee had dropped off some boxes, to store in the basement when he and Delilah had been the process of moving in together. They had gone through an extended renovation, where they had made a large three bedroom condo wheelchair accessible. The main victim of the renovation was the once ample closet space, and despite growing up as Navy Brat Tim had a lot of stuff.

"So much space," McGee murmured.

McGee and Delilah's condo was the size of a large house, but was all on one floor. They lacked storage space of a basement or attic. Tony and Ziva's house, especially with the finished basement, but that had been planned. They had wanted a house, with enough room to entertain, and for their house to be the hub of the family. Especially, as they no longer worked in the pumpkin walled office.

"Yeah," Tony admitted. "When we first moved here, Ziva and I used to lose each other."

Tony knew it was likely the two set of stairs that had caused the two of them to lose each other. They had been used to Ziva's tiny warren-like apartment, where they could call the other person from the other end, without much effort.

"I'll get my stuff soon," McGee said, as he scanned the built-ins that lined the back wall.

The built-ins were fake, using a shelving system sold in a certain Swedish furniture store. Gibbs' eyebrows had reached his forehead when Ziva and Tony had told them their plan, when he had stopped in for Friday dinner.

The built-ins had cupboards under shelves. The cupboards were mostly empty, but Tony knew in a few years they would be laden with toys.

"No worries," Tony said, with a shrug. "We've got room."

McGee nodded.

"We've finally tidied up the den," McGee reported. "I really should go through the boxes anyway."

Tony looked toward the storage room, which mostly held their friends items. A box of books belonging to Ducky which he kept meaning to collect now that he had brought a new bookcase for his condo. McGee's ancient computer parts, and year books.

"It's okay," Tony said. "Though I might have hidden some DVD's in the boxes. Ziva's been on a decluttering mission. She's been reading that Japanese decluttering book."

Tony wondered if this was Ziva's version of nesting. He was well and truly nesting, wanting to get the whole house ready for the baby, even though most of the projects could wait a year or two. He also started to hunt for baby items, not that they were hard to find, so many friends and neighbours were willing to pass on the things that were no longer needed.

Ziva on the other hand, had started throwing things out. To her credit, she had thrown out much more of her own stuff than his.

"I'm pretty sure they first rule of that book, is not to touch anyone else's stuff," McGee said, as he started to walk to the movie nook.

"I'm gonna keep that little tidbit in my back pocket," Tony declared.

The usable space was an L-shape. Tony and Ziva had debated how to lay out the space. Ziva wanted space for a yoga mat, and maybe a small punching bag. Tony wanted his movie room, and now they were thinking about a play space.

They had settled on putting the movie nook in the back, giving it a cosy feel. A huge sectional meant they could seat of half a dozen people with room to spare.

"Let's have a look," McGee said as he walked toward the large television.

Tony had summoned his friend to the basement to help with setting up the television and surround sound. The bass was too low, and the speakers behind them were silent. He and Ziva had settled down for a movie, but not finished it. Tony had been unable to focus on the plot, because he had been to busy wondering why his expensive surround system was not working.

Tony fiddled with the remotes and show McGee the problem.

"You could have hired a professional," McGee reported, as he signaled for Tony to turn off the noise. He had seen, or rather heard enough.

"What are friends for?" Tony asked. "Besides it's been a while since we've seen each other."

The hardest part about Tony's move to FLETC had been the fact that he had gone from seeing his favourite people six days out of seven, to one a week if he was lucky.

"Yeah," McGee muttered, as he moved to the cabinet where all the cords were hidden behind.

They had managed a brief conversation at Abby's Halloween party, exchanging small talk, before being pulled off in opposite directions. Delilah had started to talking to one of Abby's more alternative friends who was also a photographer. Ziva was talking to one of Abby's scientist friends who had a baby, about the benefits of babywearing, and was part of a baby wearing library where they could try different baby carriers.

"You seem a bit down in the dumps, McGloomy," Tony finally said.

He felt a heavy breath leave his body, and waited.

Waited for Tim to shrug it off, or make a joke. They were men after all, and real men did not talk about their feelings.

"Did Abby say something?" McGee asked. "Or Dee?"

Tony did not have much to do with Delilah on a one-to-one level. When they saw it each other, it was always part of a group.

Abby had mentioned that McGee seemed deflated, but Abby was especially attuned to people's emotions, and had enough going on. Her brother and his wife, with their seemingly perfect relationship were separating. Abby was constantly on the phone to her tween niece who was not taking the separation well.

"I observed," Tony declared. "You know back in the day, I was a pretty good detective."

McGee nodded.

"Yeah," McGee muttered. "You were."

Tony frowned.

"Is it the being a Senior Field Agent?" Tony asked. "I know it's a ton more paperwork, and you feel way more responsible for everyone, for not that much more pay."

"No," McGee interrupted. "If anything work is a relief right now. I know how to do work."

Tony raised his eyebrows.

"What's going on Tim?" Tony finally said. His voice cracked as he said Tim. He only said Tim when things were serious. "Being this pensive can't be good for you."

McGee moved from the television and all its cords, and sat down on the plush couch. Tony followed suit, and sat down as well. They were sitting at a right angle from each other. Close but not too close.

"How did you and Ziva do it?" McGee asked.

Tony resisted the urge to make a joke.

"Do what?" Tony asked, as he sunk deeper into the couch. Ziva was right, this couch was definitely the most comfortable, and worth the extra money they had spent on it.

"Wedding planning," McGee finally said.

Tony blinked a few times. How long ago his and Ziva's intimate wedding felt. Tony still got a warm feeling, when he remembered seeing Ziva walk down the aisle, arm in arm with both Gibbs and Schmeil. The off-white dress with its slight sleeve, and low neckline.

She had been beautiful. The venue had been beautiful. The day had been beautiful.

"You guys made it look so effortless," McGee said.

Tony let out a maniacal laugh.

"It was anything but," Tony said. "It took us how long to actually make it down the aisle."

McGee had proposed to Delilah the previous June and they were set to marry the upcoming June, in a lavish hotel. It was exactly a year between proposal and wedding.

"You guys had a lot going on," McGee offered.

Tony nodded. They had done so much living in the fifteen months between Tony's Italian proposal and the wedding.

"We also had like a dozen guests," Tony said. "Well just over if you count the Palmer spawn."

McGee laughed. Tori had been a cute seven month old when Tony and Ziva finally tied the knot. She had spent most of the ceremony asleep in a sling, and had only woken up only Tony broke the class. Her excited shrieking had been louder than clapping as Tony and Ziva kissed for the first time officially as husband and wife.

"Maybe that's the key," McGee muttered, "Between my Mom and Judy, our guest list has ballooned."

"That's the benefit of dead relatives," Tony said, before letting out a throaty chuckle.

McGee grimaced.

"That's dark," McGee muttered.

Tony shrugged.

"It's not just the guest list," McGee said. "Both of them have so many opinions."

Tony nodded.

Even though his Dad had been through the wedding hoopla more times than Tony could count he had offered few opinions on the wedding or it's decoration. Senior had been happy simply to be invited.

"I get it," McGee continued. "My Mom never got a big wedding, because Dad wanted to get married before he shipped out so they went to see a justice of the peace. Apparently, he promised her a big wedding reception when he came back, but by the time he came back Mom was seven months pregnant with me."

Tony knew little about the McGee family beyond Sarah who had moved West years ago, and Penny who like Ducky was a globe trotting retiree. Tony had only met McGee's Mom Cheryl at the Admiral's funeral. He knew bits and pieces about her life in passing, she had been in college when she met John and they had married before she graduated. She had finally completed her degree until Tim was three, but had never used it like she intended due to all the moving around, and the birth of Sarah. She now lived in Arizona with her new husband who took her on expensive vacations.

"Delilah thinks Judy is still annoyed that Daniella eloped," McGee added.

Less than two years separated the two Fielding sisters,in terms of age, but a whole ocean separated them geographically. Daniella had fallen for a visiting exchange student during her masters, and had followed him to England. To help the visa application process, she had eloped with her British husband in Vegas. The story had been told a few times, as it had all happened long before the others knew Delilah. Delilah was in awe of her older sisters fearlessness.

"She's the psychologist right?" Tony asked.

McGee nodded.

"Yeah," McGee declared. "She thinks we should go to pre-marital counselling."

"Gotta agree with her there," Tony said. Feeling odd to agree with someone he had never met, and would probably not meet for almost a year.

"What?" McGee asked. His eyebrow's raised high.

"Ziva and I did it," Tony admitted. "It was part of the deal with the Rabbi Ziva wanted to marry us. I wasn't too hot on the idea, because I thought at my age I knew it all. It was actually really helpful."

McGee frowned.

"Dee and I, aren't really religious," McGee said.

"She kept it kinda light on the religion," Tony admitted. "But, she made us talk about things. Go through all the hypothetical stuff. We talked about what we wanted our life together to look like."

McGee looked at his friend. Interested.

"It really helped," Tony said, a smile on his face. "I reckon it's saved us a really big fight on money. I didn't want to use Ziva's inheritance to buy a house. I wanted to do it on my own. It's probably because of everything that went on with Dad. The Rabbi made us talk through things, and look at things through both points of view."

Tony watched as his friends face formed into a familiar thinking look.

"I'm not saying it's gonna make everything perfect," Tony said, as he looked out to the built ins. "I mean Ziva and I are a mess on a good day, but it helped. We picked up some good strategies for handling things. Neither of us grew up with an example of a healthy relationship."

For Tony it was a revolving door of step mothers. For Ziva it was a father, who never put his family first. For both of them it was numerous relationships that were unhealthy.

"Maybe that helps," McGee admitted. "Both of you having seen what not to do."

Tony sucked in a deep breath.

"Guess so," Tony admitted. "Still sucked at the time."

McGee nodded.

"Yeah," McGee said, his voice cracking. "What I mean, is that Delilah makes it sound like her parents had this perfect marriage until her Dad died. I don't know how to live up to that."

Tony knew that McGee's angst was not just about the wedding.

It was never just about the wedding.

"I bet it wasn't," Tony replied. "It never is."

McGee frowned.

"Seriously," McGee replied. "Dee makes it sound like her parents only occasionally fought about money, took their kids on vacation every year, and never went to bed angry. All until her Dad died."

Tony knew part of the story. Delilah's father, also a John, had died when Delilah was a Freshman in college. He had been in a car wreck driving home from work. Delilah had flown home to say her goodbyes.

"Talk to her," Tony said softly. "She's probably just as freaked out as you are."

Talking, Tony had learnt was the key. He and Ziva talked so damn much.

"It's hard," McGee said, with a sigh. "We've been like ships in the night, lately."

Delilah had declined the second secondment to Dubai, because of Tim and their relationship, but still went there every few weeks.

"I tried to organise a weekend away," McGee admitted. "Delilah wanted to go to Pittsburgh to see an exhibition. I made the booking. I thought it would be such a good idea, before the holidays, and before the wedding planning got too crazy. Then there was that situation in Dubai, and both of us got called in."

The weekend away was straight of the Anthony DiNozzo healthy relationship rule book. He and Ziva aimed for a sneaky weekend away every season. Tony had organised a quick trip to the Brandywine Valley for Ziva's birthday, which was the following weekend. It would be a weekend of museum hopping, Ziva rather liked all colonial stuff the area they lived in was rich with. Both of them knew it would probably be their last chance to get away before the baby came.

"That was an extenuating circumstance," Tony said.

The situation in Dubai, had been Ellie's ex-husband managing to get himself caught in an explosion. Ellie had not seen her ex in over a year, but fearing he was dead had brought up some mixed feelings for Ellie. Especially, as Ellie was still figuring things out with her new boyfriend, and Jake had recently proposed to his new girlfriend. It had all been complicated, so damn complicated.

"Everytime we try and plan something," McGee lamented. "Something comes up. I'm starting to understand why you and Ziva had to retire to have a healthy relationship."

Tony shifted in his seat.

"It's not really retirement," Tony said. "I still work, and there's still not enough time in the day."

McGee frowned.

"I know," McGee replied. "But, it's gotta help knowing you'll be home at pretty much the same time every night."

"It's all about balance," Tony declared. "I'm really bad at that. I've done my time in the trenches, but I'm getting old, I need to go to bed at the same time every night."

McGee laughed.

"You do know how babies work, don't you?" McGee asked.

Tony nodded.

"Jimmy said Tori started sleeping through the night, when she was eight weeks," Tony reported. "DiNozzo's are fantastic sleepers. She'll be sleeping through the night at six weeks."

McGee smirked.

Hopefully, the baby did not inherit her mothers sleeping habits. Though those had been created rather than being innate.

"She," he echoed. "I still can't believe you're having a girl."

Tony nodded.

"I was a little glad," he admitted. "Didn't know how I'd handle a boy."

McGee frowned.

"Fathers and sons," Tony said, his voice getting soft. "It can be so complicated."

McGee studied the room.

"So can fathers and daughters," McGee replied.

Tony nodded. He thought of Ziva and all the angst her father had caused her. Even after his death.

"I'm not gonna be like my Dad," Tony murmured. "Not like he was."

The Senior of now, had grown so much from the Senior of then. Finally, being close to the Dad he should have been. Forty years too late.

"Or like Ziva's father," Tony said.

McGee looked at his shoes.

"That's a lot of weight," McGee whispered. "To put on yourself."

Tony nodded. His shoulders already ached.

"Gonna need your help McUncle," Tony declared.

McGee opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Are you going to make your daughter call me that?" McGee started.

"It'll be her third word," Tony joked. "After Ima, and Dada."

McGee smiled.

"We're not doing Godparents," Tony declared. "It's not a thing in Judaism, but we're kinda short on the relative front, so there's room for anyone who wants to join in."

McGee nodded.

"Abby's very excited," McGee said. "Especially, because its a girl. She loves having nieces."

Abby had declared herself to be Aunt Abby, even before Tony and Ziva had opened up the position.

"I was gonna ask," Tony said, looking at the television, which they had made no progress on. "If you'd help me with high tech baby monitor stuff, like you did for Jimmy and Breena. Closer to the time of course."

McGee had brought a video baby monitor for Jimmy and Breena, and had helped them set it up on their phones. Jimmy could watch Tori asleep in her crib from work.

"Of course," McGee said.

"We're gonna get one those sock things too," Tony said. "You know the ones that monitor blood oxygen and stuff."

McGee nodded.

"Jimmy was obsessed with that," McGee said.

Tony got up. He could smell the moussaka Ziva was cooking for lunch. Part of the basement renovation had been to soundproof the movie nook, but smells still drifted through the old house.

"I still can't believe you and Ziva are having a baby," McGee said, as he got up.

"Did your parents not explain the birds and the bees to you, Timothy Farragut McGee?" Tony asked, in a silly voice.

McGee laughed.

"It's just," McGee started. "You know, we all used to work together, and everything."

Tony nodded. That felt like a lifetime ago.

"We've definitely got some stories," Tony said. "We'll tell some of them to the baby, one day."

The baby would know so much love. So many faces around the table.

"Abby and I were talking about Kate the other day," McGee said. His voice cracking as he spoke. "How she would have gotten such a kick out of you having a little girl?"

Tony let out soft laugh.

"I'm not like I was," Tony started. "When-"

McGee nodded.

So much had changed since they knew Kate. All of them had matured. Grown.

"She'd have been impressed with how much you've matured too," McGee replied.

Tony let out a breath.

He thought of the photo album tucked into the book case, filled with glimpses of the past. He thought of Kate with her arms around Abby, in that dive bar that had long ago closed. Of Kate's cheeks blush with alcohol.

"Right back at ya McGroom," Tony declared

McGee nodded.

"Dee and I weren't going to do a wedding party," McGee said. "Like you and Ziva."

The benefit of their intimate wedding, was that almost everyone had a role; four of their friends had held up the chuppah, Ducky, Schmeil and Senior had each made speeches, and little Amira had blown bubbles while Tony and Ziva walked toward the room for Yichud. Breena and Delilah had managed the caterers and other vendors so Tony and Ziva could enjoy their day.

"I feel a but coming," Tony muttered.

McGee smiled.

"With how big the wedding is getting," McGee said. "We're kinda having too. Delilah's sister is going to be her maid of honour."

Tony's ears pricked up.

"Jimmy's helped a lot," McGee said. "But he's no good a public speaking."

Tony felt an excitement in his gut.

"I guess he'd know a lot about wedding planning," Tony muttered. "Technically he's planned two."

Jimmy and Breena had held a wedding reception, at a beach side hotel in October after their May elopement. It had been more chilled out than the Florida destination wedding that had initially been planned to bridal magazine standards. Still, the food had been delicious, and Ziva had looked beautiful in a rust coloured dress with a pashmina wrapped around her shoulders. Early October was too cool for a beach wedding. Especially in Ocean City, Maryland.

"Yeah," McGee said. "He's been helpful."

Tony nodded.

"I wasn't really gonna do a best man," McGee continued. "But, Delilah's Mom didn't want the pictures to look weird. I wanted to ask Abby, but my Mom said it would be weird considering Abby and I used to date."

Tony cackled. That really did feel like a lifetime ago. Almost everyone who had met them all long after Abby and McGee had broken up, had a hard time believing they were ever more than good friends.

"It wouldn't be too much work," McGee said. "I know you'll be busy with the baby."

The baby was due in the last week of February. If everything went to plan she would be a little over three months at the wedding.

Of late, this had become Tony and Ziva's yard stick of measurement. How old will the baby be then? How close to the due date?

"Are you asking me to be your best man?" Tony asked.

McGee looked at him.

"Yeah," McGee said. "If you want it."

Tony broke out into a smile.

"Of course," Tony said. "I've already got so many ideas for the bachelor party."

McGee laughed.

Tony had been an expert bachelor party planner during his younger years, planning alcohol-fueled weekends in sun drenched coastal cities, as one-by-one his college buddies got married. With each friend, Tony had found himself losing a friend, mostly because he chose to distance himself. His friends did not need him hanging on.

Year later, a week out from Jimmy's wedding reception, wanting to make up for the dismal bachelor party Jimmy had during their pursuit of Harper Dearing, Tony had planned a bachelor weekend for Jimmy. The group of them had gone to a resort, which had golf and summer camp activities. Ziva and Abby had joined them as honorary guys. It had been much tamer than previous parties, but exactly what Jimmy needed after everything that had happened.

Later, when Jimmy and Breena were expecting Tori, Tony had organised another trip calling it a Dadchelor party. This had been in the middle of winter. Tony had taken them all to a semi-local ski resort, and they had spent an afternoon snow tubing, and letting Jimmy blow of steam. He had been a ball of anxiety.

"As long as we don't go sailing," McGee replied.

Abby and Jimmy had organised Tony's bachelor party, hiring out a boat and going for a cruise around Annapolis. They had hired out the whole boat. McGee had spent almost the whole trip around the harbour throwing up, despite having only half a beer. Abby and Ellie had been honorary guys for that trip. McGee had gotten so much crap, for working with the Navy and having no sea legs.

Tony laughed.

"I promise," Tony said.

His mind was already buzzing with ideas. It needed to be something geeky. Maybe laser tag, or some sort of adventure room.

There was a creaking on the stairs. Ziva appeared at the bottom of the stairs, holding tight onto the railing. Trips up and down the stairs often led to her being breathless.

Pregnancy had been an adventure.

"I came to check on the progress," Ziva said, as she gained her breath.

She waddled around to movie nook, and sat down on the sectional sofa.

"Getting there," Tony said.

They had made little progress on troubleshooting the surround system, but Tony did not care.

He moved to sit next to Ziva. He placed a hand on her stomach.

McGee's eyes squinted.

"Sure looks like it," Ziva muttered sarcastically.

McGee's cheeks flushed red.

For someone with his security clearance he was not good with half-truths.

"Well," Tony said, as he rubbed Ziva's stomach. The baby kicked. "We did got a bit distracted, McUncle over here is still amazed we're having a baby."

Ziva smiled.

"Did you parents not explain the flowers and the bees to you, Timothy?" Ziva asked.

Husband and wife were as bad as each other.

"Birds and the bees," Tony corrected.

Ziva frowned.

"That makes no sense," Ziva declared. "The bees need flowers to make the honey."

Tony laughed. McGee smiled.

For a second, it was like they were in the pumpkin walled squad room. A case making them work into the wee hours. Ziva mangling an idiom. The three musketeers.

"Also," he said. "I'm gonna have to get my party planning hat out. McGroom here needs a best man."

Ziva smiled, and clapped her hands together.

"We can try to organise the bachelor party before the baby comes," McGee offered.

Ziva waved him away.

Tony rubbed Ziva's belly.

"Did ya hear that baby?" Tony said. "Next summer's gonna be crazy busy."

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

For those who celebrate Happy Passover.

Thanks so much for the reviews, and love. I'm so behind on review replies.

The next chapter will be up next week, and will have Tony and Ziva talk about names.


	19. What's In A Name?

Ziva watched as the car inched closer toward DC proper. It was the weekend after Thanksgiving, and after over a decade in this city, Ziva knew traffic would be unpredictable. Traffic had only gotten worse since the election.

A lot of things had only gotten worse since the election.

"You okay?" Tony asked, from the driver's seat.

Ziva frowned, and tugged at her seat belt. She was uncomfortable, but that was an almost constant state of being these days. She had never ached this much, not even during those first weeks of basic training, where the drills ran for half the day in the hot late summer sun.

Pregnancy was a test of endurance.

"Yes," she said, as she ran her hands over her lap.

The dress she was wearing, had been rented from a maternity rental service Breena had suggested, made her feel like a whale. It was even a light bluey-grey colour, not a colour Ziva would usually wear, but the rental service in Old Town had only a limited selection because of the time of year. Breena, had better luck with the service two years ago, which had gotten her throw the three winter weddings her and Jimmy had been invited to during her pregnancy.

She looked out at the highway.

They were headed to an opera performance at the Kennedy Centre. A yearly ritual, to honour a song bird whose wings were clipped too quickly.

Ziva and Tali David were separated by four years and eleven days. Ziva had celebrated her thirty-fourth birthday, by going museum hopping in the Brandywine valley, with her bored husband, and a basketball under her shirt. Living the type of life she had never imagined.

Tali's thirtieth birthday had passed the day before Thanksgiving, with Ziva sobbing in the shower. There was nobody in Israel, to even leave a stone on her grave anymore, and that had broken the damn. The tears had fallen freely.

In the early years after Tali's sudden death, Ziva had tried not to imagine what her sisters life would have been like, if she had gotten on a later bus, or gotten off at an earlier stop.

Now, she found her mind wandering. Would Tali be the busy body Aunt-to-be? Giving Abby a run for her money.

Would Tali have realised her dream, and sung on stage?

This year had been so much harder than the previous ones.

Maybe, it was because they were only a few years, from when the years Tali had been dead would eclipse the years she had lived.

Maybe, it was the pregnancy.

"I think we'll be early," Tony said, as they moved closer. "I didn't know what traffic would be doing."

Ziva looked at him. He was wearing his smartest suit, which was tight on him. They had both been gaining pounds since Ziva had gotten pregnant.

"Okay," Ziva said, as she tugged slightly on the dress. It was tight. Too tight.

She looked down at her feet. She had squashed her body into maternity tights, which were dark black and made her feel like she should be wearing a head covering, and have a trail of children behind her. She had forced her feet into the only pair of heels she owned, and could feel them pinching on her feet.

Tony had helped her find the shoes, when they were both working off their Turkey hangovers on Black Friday. He had seen her try to fit her swollen feet into the shoes, and had suggested they go out, brave the sales, and buy a new pair. She had refused saying that she did not want to buy a pair of shoes she only wore once.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the rear-view mirror. Her face was round from the pregnancy, and her eyes had dark rings. Tony had the gaul to claim she was glowing the other day.

She felt like a beached whale.

"I like that dress," Tony murmured. "Looks good on you."

Ziva frowned.

Had she married a blind man?

Maybe, his failing eyesight was his age.

That had been his latest parenting neurosis. Tony was convinced he was going to be one of the older Dad's on the playground. During, a rushed week day dinner, Tony had bemoaned about how old he would be when their daughter started school, graduated high school, and graduated college. During, his commute home he had worked out that he might be on a walker, when he walked his daughter down the aisle. If he walked her down the aisle. If he walked her down the aisle. Ziva had soothed his worries, and listened as he promised to eat super healthy and run every day. The health kick, had lasted until Thanksgiving morning, when Tony declared it too cold to run.

Ziva had listened. Knowing that Tony could be a paragon of health and the worst could still happen.

"Thank you," Ziva said softly.

They took a turn to get off the highway. The time blinked. They were about to embarrassingly early.

"At least this won't be like last year," Tony said, as they cruised onto the streets of DC proper.

Last year, they had been late to the opera. They had only been living in their house for a month, and were managing his job, her degree and house renovations. They had decided to take the metro to the Kennedy centre. Their house was a forty minute walk or six minute drive from the last station on the line they needed. They had been late leaving the house, and despite driving at the speed limit to the station, had missed the train that would have given them time to spare. They had sat in the car, and waited for the next train, both of them complaining about the cold November night.

When they reached Foggy Bottom, they had mere minutes until the ushers refused entry into the opera. They had decided to forgo the free shuttle, and literally run up New Hampshire Avenue, in their fanciest clothes.

It was a funny story now, a year after the fact. At the time however, it had been the cause of one of their biggest fights in their first year of marriage.

"Last year we were late," Tony said. "This year we'll be way early. Maybe next year we'll get it just right."

Just like the children's story.

The baby kicked. Hard. Making Ziva's stomach ripple. She wondered if it might split the dress. The dress was so tight.

Maybe, she should have just brought the burgundy dress she saw on the website for one of her favourite department stores. She could have made some money back reselling it. A one time purchase seemed so frivolous.

"Next year?" she echoed, as she rubbed where the baby had kicked.

Next year the baby would be here.

"Yeah," he said.

They drove through the picturesque compass of George Washington University. Tony was taking the long route. So they would not arrive too early.

"But," Ziva stammered. "The baby."

She would be around nine months old then. If she did not arrive too early, like Ziva so feared.

The pregnancy app she kept on her phone, had warned her about upcoming symptoms and told her how the baby was developing. With each week, the baby was getting closer and closer to viability. Each passing week was a victory.

Twenty seven weeks, she told herself.

They had gotten this far.

"We probably won't be able to take her," Tony said softly, as they took another slight detour, admiring the pretty architecture. "But, we could leave her with Abby or maybe Jimmy and Breena for an evening. I think those two are gearing up for round two."

During Thanksgiving, after desert had been served and the alcohol was flowing freely, Breena had asked Abby at least a dozen questions, about what growing up as the adopted child, with a sibling who was her parents biological child. It had caused some raised eyebrows from the other guests, but Abby had answered Breena's questions.

Abby had been stuck answering her questions. Ellie had gone to Oklahoma to see her parents and brothers. McGee and Delilah were down in Arizona with his mother, trying to reign in her control over their wedding.

Ziva rubbed her stomach. The baby kicked her bladder.

She needed to pee. Soon.

"She'll be what eight or nine months then," Tony said with a smile. This was another one of Tony's latest calculations done during his commute. How old the baby would be when, his birthday, next Christmas, her birthday. "Jimmy and Breena left Tori with her parents for a whole weekend before she was a year old."

Jimmy and Breena were their main point of reference for parenthood. Their own childhoods were too long ago, and too difficult to consider.

"I know," she said. Her mouth was dry.

Tony tapped on the steering wheel. A few college kids wrapped in thick parka's scurried around the darkened compass which was quiet because of the holiday. Ziva felt her heart seize, as she saw the look in Tony's eyes.

He had been that student with nowhere to go during the holidays.

That was why he made such a fuss now. Hanukkah was going to be late this year, falling in the gap between Christmas and New Year, and Tony had already started planning the party. He loved a family holiday.

Thanksgiving had been held at Ducky's condo, in a sort of pot luck style. Ziva had claimed her space on the couch, with everyone coming to sit with her bringing her food. Like a fertility goddess to be worshipped, even though she felt whale like.

Christmas was to be in Gibbs' cosy cottage. Despite Tony and Ziva having the biggest house, with the biggest dining table, nobody had suggested they host Christmas, so close to Hannukah and with Ziva being so pregnant.

"Just because we're having a baby doesn't mean we have to stop doing what we love," Tony continued.

Tony had said as much since the moment they knew the baby was on her way. He wanted them to take the baby to Israel, one day. When they had been in the Shenandoah Valley for their anniversary, and Brandywine Valley for her birthday, Tony had looked a leaflets and made comments about certain places being good for kids. They had made room for the baby, the baby was an addition to their family, but not a subtraction from their life.

"I know," Ziva said.

Still, they had worked so hard for this baby. She had this baby with her for every second the past six and half months. How could she ever leave her?

"But, the basement is soundproof now, yes?" she asked.

Tony nodded. They passed a diner. It was quiet because of the holiday weekend.

Ziva felt the familiar pressure on her bladder.

The clock blinked. They still had just over an hour before opera started.

She definitely would not be able to wait that long.

"Yeah," he said.

The basement project had taken a lot of time, and more money than budgeted, but it had turned the wood paneled basement, which reminded Ziva of sailboat into somewhere she would willingly spend time.

Senior had brought her a prenatal yoga class pass for her birthday, which she had enjoyed, however none of the available weekly classes worked with her schedule. The yoga studio was very popular and had long waiting list. Instead, she had dusted off her yoga mat, and practiced some of the moves in the empty space opposite the movie nook. The back ache that had plagued her during the pregnancy, was still there, but easier to manage.

"I could always play that CD you made me," Ziva said. Sometimes, it felt like he could read her mind. Maybe, after over a decade together in various forms of a relationship, he almost could. "I could play that, and still be close. If she needs me."

"I guess so," Tony said. "But, I don't want you to feel like you have martyr yourself, or that you'll be the only one who takes care of the baby."

The car took the next corner and headed back toward the Kennedy center.

They were still so early. They would probably end up at the rooftop restaurant.

She hated the rooftop bar in the Kennedy Center, not because of the bar, because it was so busy, and bustling. Full of people for whom the opera was just a special event, and excuse to dress up, and take in some culture. Perhaps even a date, Tony had explained to her once that the opera was one of the 'big three', in terms of dates.

This trip to the opera was not a date, or even something fun. It was an act of memorization. A memorial to the David daughter who never got to grow up, by the David daughter who never expected to.

"I'm gonna change just as many diapers as you," he said. His voice cracking. "I'm gonna be equal in this."

Ziva sucked in a deep breath.

She knew where this was coming from. During Thanksgiving dinner, Senior had admitted that he had never changed a diaper. Tony's face had paled. Tony loved his father, well at least this latest iteration of him, but he was not like him.

Tony would be the most involved father, he had promised her as much. He would not only know how to change a diaper, but be the fastest diaper changer in the tristate area.

During, the later portion of the evening, while Tony and the others were doing the dishes. Senior, who had polished off a bottle of wine buy himself, and sat next to Ziva. He had told Ziva that he watching a video series, to learn how to do basic child rearing tasks, in preparation for grandpa duty. It had filled Ziva with a warm feeling.

They were breaking the cycle.

"I know," she said. She touched her stomach.

She really needed to pee.

"It will be nearly a year before we need to talk about this again," she finally said. "Who knows, what everything will look like then?"

The baby would be here. Something to be considered.

"Yeah," he replied, as he looked at the diner. "I need some coffee."

They drove into the parking garage. Tony fished a ticket from the machine. It looked so ridiculous in his black suit.

"I need to pee," she declared.

Tony laughed as they drove around the packed car park

"You hungry too?"he asked.

She was either hungry, or needed to pee. Pregnancy was a wild ride.

"No," she lied.

She did not want to linger in the restaurant for too long.

He found a car park, and made an effort of parking. Ziva looked around, the car park was busy. The opera would be busy.

"Ready?" he asked.

He got out of the car the door slamming. She pulled at the door, and struggled to open it. Within seconds, he was around to her side, and helping her out. One arm stretched out. She struggled out of the car.

Whales were sea creatures after all.

She hated these feelings of dependence.

"I think there's a bathroom near the entrance," he said.

Ziva nodded.

Twelve minutes later, Ziva walked into the bustling rooftop bar, and scanned the tables for Tony. The bar was busy, perhaps other people had also misjudged the traffic.

Ziva tugged on the dress. She was already counting down the hours until she could take off the offending article.

The maternity tights, were not sitting right. They were supposed to go over Ziva's ever expanding midsection, but were too big, and were right under her newly expanding breasts. Fighting with the tights, had been what had taken her so long in the cramped bathroom stall.

She scanned the room, and found Tony sitting at one of the lower tables, with two glasses of clear liquid, which assumes is lemonade. In front of him was ice cream, with two spoons.

She knew, he would not believe she was not hungry.

She was always hungry.

Tony smiled as she moved closer.

"I'm glad you're here," Tony said softly. "Those people, didn't believe me when I said I had a very pregnant wife, when I nabbed the table."

Tony pointed to a couple sitting on the closest high table. They were young, and able to sit on the backless stool. Ziva's back ached just thinking about the stool.

"The ice cream should have been a give away," Ziva declared, as she sat down on the chair. Her enlarged stomach touched the table.

"I've been thinking," Tony said, as she dug her spoon into the ice cream, not missing a beat.

"That is dangerous," she declared, before stuffing the ice cream into her mouth. It was sweet, almost too sweet.

For a second, her mind drifted to Haifa. That salty taste in the air. Her father away again. Her mother with her head in book, and a huge sun hat on her head. Ziva and Tali, having competitions to lick the ice cream they had brought, before the sun melted it. Neither of them had succeeded, and the white gloop had spilled onto their matching swimsuits. Despite, their age gap their mother liked to dress them in matching clothes. She cared little about the expense, if the agency was keeping Eli from his family, she was more than happy to spend the money the agency paid him for his services. It did not matter, if the ice cream spilled, they could just run into the sea to wash it off.

Those days had been so carefree.

Now decades later, in a diner on a cool evening, Ziva could taste the salt of the sea at Haifa.

"About names," Tony finally said. "For the baby."

The baby kicked. She had a sweet tooth. Like her father, Ziva thought.

"I know you want to give her a Hebrew name," Tony continued. "I know this is not really the place for this."

That conversation had happened long ago, before they even started trying. It had happened during their eight weeks of pre-marital counselling with the Rabbi who married them. The same Rabbi who they were hoping would help them celebrate this new life.

If everything went to plan. G-d willing.

The premarital counselling sessions, had really just been structured conversations. Designed to get the two of them to talk about things, big and small. The kids conversation had been had just six months after the miscarriage, and feelings had been raw.

They had talked about where each stood on fertility treatment, and what they would do if there was an adverse outcome from prenatal testing. They talked about raising any potential children in a Jewish house. Tony had agreed to Hebrew names, but wanted names they would fit in the cut-throat world of the American schoolyard.

"It is not custom," Ziva started, rattling off a line, she had used when people asked her about a baby shower.

"To name a child before it's born," Tony interrupted. "I know, I wanna meet her properly before we settle on a name, too."

Ziva took another spoonful of ice cream.

"And, I know this probably isn't the day to do this," Tony continued, his hand wrapped tight around his drink. "But, I want you to know that if you want to name her Tali, I'd like that."

Ziva shifted in her seat.

Tali DiNozzo, she thought to herself.

No, the name Tali was taken. It was on a gravestone, above two dates which were horribly close together.

Tali DiNozzo, she thought again.

It sounded nice. Right.

"I shouldn't have brought this up," he said.

Ziva took another spoonful of ice cream. Tony had not touched it, despite the second spoon.

She would be lying, if she said she had not thought about names. Whenever she heard names, that sound Hebrew she sounded them out in her head. When they had gone to the busy Rosh Hashanah seder at her Rabbi's house, she had listened out to women's names, and to some of them she had added a DiNozzo too try them out.

 _Sarah DiNozzo_ , too common she had decided.

 _Hannah DiNozzo_ , had just not felt right she had thought.

 _Esther DiNozzo_ , sounded too much like a Grandmother name, even if it was having a renaissance.

"I did not think, you would want to name her after anyone," Ziva declared. "You always said that if we had a boy, you would not want to name him Anthony."

They had talked about naming children, when babies were still hypothetical. Tony had said he did not want to inflict his first name on his future son.

"Yeah," he said, running his hand through his hair. "I don't, but we're not having a boy."

They are having a girl. A little girl, who would never wonder where her father was.

"Don't you want to name her after somebody in your family?" she asked.

It was a side step of the conversation.

Tali DiNozzo sounded right, but could she name her daughter after someone she had loved so much.

"Maybe, your mother," she added.

Tony shook his head.

"Catherine David-DiNozzo," he declared, shaking his head again. "That's way too many letters for a kid. She would hate us, whenever she had to write her name. If we're gonna give her a long last name, her first name should be short and snappy."

She was not really listening, she only heard their two last names.

"David DiNozzo," she echoed. "With a hyphen?"

Tony nodded. The chatter of the bar, was drowned out.

"Yeah," Tony said. "Or would you prefer DiNozzo-David?"

Ziva shook her head.

"Just DiNozzo," Ziva replied.

David had too much baggage.

"People would probably mispronounce it," Ziva declared. "And, it is quite a mouthful."

Day-vid, it haunted her. Even at her own graduation, she had been announced as Ziva Day-vid. It had taken her doctor a couple of times, to pronounce it correctly, the receptionist always butchered it.

"Okay," Tony said, a slight frown his face. "I just figured because you did not change your name. That you might want the baby to have your name too."

Ziva stroked her stomach.

What would the baby have from her?

The baby was settled. Enjoying her sugar hit.

"I did not change my name because of the paperwork," Ziva said.

She had looked into it, during their wedding preparations, but between translating her Israeli birth certificate, and organising all the places she would need to change her name. Between, the house they were trying to buy, the wedding preparations, and her studies it had all been too much.

It did not matter because she got non-official mail addressed to a Mrs DiNozzo all the time.

"I know," he said softly.

Ziva took a sip of water from the glass Tony had gotten for her.

"I was thinking maybe Tali as a middle name," Ziva declared. "I do not know if I could have another Tali in my life."

"I was thinking the same about my Mom's name," Tony declared, as he picked up his spoon, and ate the little bit of melting ice cream. "So she'll be Something Catherine Tali DiNozzo."

Ziva felt sick. She had eaten to much ice cream.

"Tali is such a common name in Israel," she declared, looking at the table behind them. "Tali hated it, there was always another Tali in her class or wherever she went. Then when she died, whenever I was in Israel, there was always another Tali. In a shop or on the news reporting the weather."

Her mouth went dry.

There had always been another Tali, but never her Tali.

Could this baby be another Tali too?

Tony checked his watch and Ziva got ready to move.

She touched her stomach.

What is your name? She communed with her unborn child.

What will we call you?

A waitress brushed past. Ziva caught sight of her huge name tag; Malia.

 _Malia. Tali. Talia_.

Talia echoed in her head.

It sounded so American.

A memorial to the song bird whose wings got clipped, but with its own distinct flavour. All with a single letter.

"Talia," she whispered, her hands firm on her midsection.

The baby kicked.

Approval, maybe.

"Talia," she whispered again.

Tony heard her. His face screwed up, his thinking face.

"Was Tali short for Talia?" he asked.

Ziva shook her head.

"They are different names," she declared as people walked behind her. They squished past, but Ziva could not move in any further.

"Talia," he repeated. Dragging the name out. A smile dawned on his face.

The same but different.

"I do not want her to feel like she has to live for two people," Ziva declared, as Tony took a sip of his drink.

"Why would she think that?" he asked.

He did not get this. Names carried weight. Names carried expectations.

"I was named for grandmother," Ziva said softly. "Or at least the name she took when she arrived in Israel."

From the stories she had been told, her father's mother had been fled a fledgling Europe in the mid 1930's. Her parents had sat Shiva for her, as if she had died. She had married a man who was planning to build a new life on a Kibbutz. Her had not survived the journey, so she had gotten off the boat alone. Even though the British tried to stop her. She had joined the Kibbutz and quickly been assigned another husband, as if they could just be manufactured. He had been killed, trying to defend the kibbutz from Arabs who had come to reclaim their land. Eventually, Ziva the pioneer had met the man who had taken the last name David, and had two sons who would witness the war of independence. One son who would take up arms for the new country, even as it cost him his family.

"I didn't know that," he said, his expression falling.

There was an announcement. Announcing that they were opening the theatre. Ziva wanted to get out of the busy restaurant.

"I thought I told you," Ziva replied, as she took the last sip of lemonade.

She thought she had explained, that part of her duty to her father had stemmed from her name.

 _You are loyal to me, and only me._

"Talia," he repeated, as he started to get up from his seat, and moved toward hers.

Ziva looked at him.

"Talia Catherine DiNozzo," she whispered. Not too loud, old superstitions ran deep.

His eyes had become glassy.

"Yes," he said, unnecessarily. It was decided.

The baby was a piece of her, and a piece of him making something entirely new.

Is that your name? She asked the baby.

The baby kicked.

Maybe?

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

The next chapter will focus on Ziva also, and her new job. It should be up next week.

Thank you so much for all the reviews, and kind words. I'll get to those review replies soon, but know each review is precious to me.


	20. This Woman's Work

Ziva looked out the huge windows, on the quiet street. The grey sky stared back. Christmas lights tied around the lampost flickered. It was late afternoon.

The ASRC, an organization tasked with helping refugees and asylum seekers find resources in the community, was run out of what had once been a store in Silver Spring. The organisation leased two floors, and the upper floors had meeting rooms and the class room where Ziva taught English classes. The English classes had stopped for the year.

Much of what Ziva did, was mundane. She sat with the new immigrant and suggested services both governmental and nongovernmental that might help. She might teach one young young man how to use their SNAP benefits and what they could buy with them. So many of them squirmed in their seats at accepting the help. This was not why they had come to America. Then she might link a young mother to an Arabic speaking playgroup, in the hope she might find social support. Next, she might go through a resume typed on a library computer and suggest edits, while also providing cards to a job agency. A woman who might have been a nurse before, would be hospital cleaner in this new country.

The main part of her job, she had been instructed during her first days, was to listen. So many of the people that walked through the doors, had been shuffled from beuercat to buercat, as just a number. There was no time limit for how long to sit with a client, as the organisation liked to call them, as often the person in front of them had more than one thing they needed help with. Often there was surface need like food security, and underlying need like knowing whether the relatives they had left behind.

Ziva's skills as an investigator meant she often got to the bottom of both needs pretty quickly. The skills her father had taught her in that dusty farmhouse, were being used for good.

It was the week before Christmas, and the classes Ziva taught had recently ended. Her contract was also set to end, at the end of the year. If she had not been pregnant there have already been a contract on her desk, extending her position. Her boss had said, as much in vague words. Alas, she was pregnant, obviously pregnant and she and her boss needed to negotiate some form of maternity leave. Her boss, wanted to keep her on, but could not give her maternity leave. Their organisation had only four people, and the occasional intern. Ziva would leave a gap. They could not spare her for twelve weeks. Even though those twelve weeks would be unpaid.

They were also losing funding, as of inauguration day. Just as their workload was getting bigger.

 _It is never the right time_ , one of those books on motherhood had told her, offering suggestions on how to mix parenthood and work. These books replaced the dense novels, she once kept on her night stand. She was desperate to latch onto someone who had been in the trenches. Someone to guide her. Even it was through edited words and photoshopped pictures.

But some times are worse than others. There work her organisation did was endless. There were always more people to help.

If the baby was not coming for a little longer, maybe she could have planned better. Married the two strands of her life together into tight but secure knot.

Work and home. Two cups.

Ziva and Tony had talked through all their different options as the meeting drew nearer. Tony had assured her that they would be fine financially if she took a career break. They had designed their life like this, Tony's income covered their expenses including their rather large mortgage. Ziva's meager income was for fun like weekends away, and home renovations. Eli's money sat there for if the crap hit the fan.

Financially they would be fine. Tony had run through the numbers twice, to prove it. He always was funny with money, a consequence of his childhood.

But, what about her.

She loved this job.

She had wanted this baby, before she had the job. Now, she greedily wanted both, but it seemed something would have to give.

Her mother had put her dreams on hold to raise her children.

Domestication had been stifling.

Would it stifle her too?

The door of the centre opened letting in the frosty December air. The news had been talking about the possibility of a white Christmas, even though it had not happened in DC for years.

"Hello," Ziva said, getting up slowly from her desk.

Nothing she did anymore was quick. She was carrying extra weight, and fast movements made her head spin.

The woman who entered looked up at Ziva. She had a face, with burn scars and a loosely tied black hijab.

"My son-in-law told me about this place,' she said in faintly accented English. "In the newspaper, yes."

Ziva nodded, as she adjusted the cushion on the chair. In the hope she might find a marginally comfortable position.

The organisation had been in a local newspaper, as Christmas approached. Ziva had declined to be photographed, not wanting an old enemy or perp with a vengeance to come crashing into her new life.

She had taken a copy of the article, though and slipped it into the back of the photo album she and Tony kept in the shelves of the basement.

She helped bring good into the world.

She helped lost people find their way.

She was proud of that.

"Yes," Ziva said softly. "I am Ziva, what is your name?"

Ziva could feel the woman's eyes resting on her necklace.

Ziva was used to this. Many of the people who walked through the center's doors came from countries that did not always recognize the country of her birth. She had debated hiding the necklace under her shirt to avoid drama, but then one day she had been helping woman who had fled South America on foot, who wished her a happy Shabbat, as she told the story of her grandmother who had been from Argentina.

 _Some Jews fled to Argentina_ , Schmeil had told her once, as he returned from a trip. She was six, maybe seven and Schmeil had brought her a picture book in Spanish.

He had met other survivors during his travels, and told the story sitting in the modern dining room of the David's high rise. Her father, who had been home for once, had talked about Adolf Eichmann, and listening to his trial on the radio.

"Rana," the woman said, as she took a seat. "You should watch how you sit, some positions are not good for the baby."

Ziva raised her eyebrow. She received so much unsolicited advice since the pregnancy had become obvious.

Random women in the supermarket. The neighbor from across the street, who seemed to have it all together, even with two small children and a husband who worked away. The advice came think and fast from the mothers who came through the doors, with babies born in refugee camps on their hips.

"I was a doctor," Rana declared holding up her hands. Three of her fingers were stubs. Her whole left hand had melded into a claw. Mostly likely a result of primitive or delayed burns care. "These hands brought new life into the world. Before-"

The before was loaded. It always was in this place. There were too many horrible things in the world.

Ziva sat down quickly. Too quickly. Her head spun.

"How can I help you?" Ziva asked, closing her eyes to help dissipate the dizziness.

Rana frowned. Ziva took a few gulps of air.

Since, the newspaper article. The organisation had gotten various donations, especially to its Tuesday food bank. There had also been many people, who came from the same places that some of the clients came from, but had gotten out before it got bad, who wanted to help, offering services and support.

It had gone from famine to feast. Soon it would be famine again.

Sadly, the organisation had also gotten some abuse. Ziva had arrived early one Friday morning, to open the center, to find a swastika and the words America is full, sprayed on the front door. The glass had been broken, and a donated computer had been stolen.

Those actions had hurt her more than any bullet that had grazed her skin.

Anger had rose through her, as she stood helpless on the sidewalk.

She was bringing a daughter into a world, where people did such horrible things.

"How many weeks are you?" Rana asked. Her scarred face had formed into a tight smile, and her eyes had lit up.

Ziva was used to this questioning by now. Most of the clients the organisation served were women. Many of the mothers. All of them enquired about her health, to be polite, but also to hope.

In this new place. Babies who were born would not know tragedy. Not know suffering.

"30," Ziva replied, remembering what the app on her phone had said. "31 on Friday."

It was a Wednesday, one of the quieter days in the week. Tuesdays were busy because of the food bank, and Thursdays because of the legal clinic which went into the evening. Wednesdays were allotted for admin tasks in the office, and were a nice reprieve from the busy days either side.

"Is it your first?" Rana asked, her smile holding strong.

Ziva nodded. The first that had gotten this far.

"I delivered babies," Rana reported. "That was my job. There was only one other girl in my medical school class."

Ziva tried to place the accent. It was vaguely middle eastern, but there were so many places she could be from.

There was so much horror in the world. Too much.

"It is a girl," Ziva murmured. Offering Rana something in the hope, she would open up.

That had been the hardest lesson in this new role, to open up. When the clients asked her a question back, it was not out of malice. They had nothing to hide.

Her interrogation skills had proved both help and hindrance.

"A girl," Rana echoed.

The baby kicked. Perhaps knowing she was being talked about.

She was like her father wanting to be the center of things.

"Daughters are precious," Rana whispered.

Ziva nodded.

Daughters were precious.

She knew of too many daughters who never came home.

Talia David. Kelly Gibbs. Morgan Burke.

"Is your daughter with you?" Ziva asked. "You mentioned a son-in-law."

Rana paused, and looked around the room. Her eyes fixed on a poster about a domestic violence shelter. Ziva knew Rana did not need that service, because those who did would flinch from the poster, looking away.

"She is here," Rana declared. "I sent her here, when things were getting harder. When we still could."

Ziva nodded. It was not an unusual story. Those who could sent their children away from the horrors. Before it got too bad. Schmeil had school friends, who were evacuated to England and other far away lands, when the riots started, and the Jews had to register, only to be barred from public life.

A parent would do anything to protect their child. To save them.

"She has a good life here," Rana continued. "She had a good job. Her husband is good. I worried that because she was so young, and his parents wanted a traditional girl, but he is good to her."

Rana words drifted off.

Ziva stroked her stomach.

 _I am your mother, I will keep you safe forever,_ Ziva told the baby.

"Is your husband happy it is a girl?" Rana asked. Her voice coming back in. Like the tide.

Ziva nodded. Tony had been certain the baby was a girl from the moment the two lines appeared on the white stick. Tony always said good morning to the baby, when he got up. Tony, was brimming with excitement.

"Very happy," Ziva said. "We wanted a baby very much."

Rana looked Ziva up and down.

"Daughters are precious," Rana said. "I am sure your mother has told you that."

Ziva felt a cramp. It stole her breath and she reached for the table. It was painless, but still shocking.

She recalled the 30 week preemie survival rates she had read. She calculated how many weeks to expect the baby to spend in the NICU.

The cramp passed as quickly as it came.

Ziva let out a breath. Relief.

It was just false labour. A practice run, the app had told her, as it listed off symptoms for the upcoming week of pregnancy.

"Have some water," Rana demanded.

Ziva blinked at her. Not registering the words.

"The pain's," Rana said. "I forget the term in English, but the are practice, yes."

Braxton Hicks, Ziva had found that term fascinating.

"Yes," Ziva said.

She reached for the water she kept at her desk, and took a few careful sips.

She rubbed her stomach.

 _Please stay put, baby._ She begged.

"First time mothers," Rana said with a sigh. "They are always so anxious, when they first experience them. Water helps. The uterus is a muscle."

Ziva frowned, but did as the good doctor suggested and took a long gulp of water.

"Always so anxious generally," Rana added, her voice drifting out. Like the tide.

These last thirty weeks she had been a ball of anxiety.

The wild pregnancy dreams that the books had warned her about, had been a constant.

They had only gotten worse as the pregnancy progressed, and the baby became more real.

Saleem and his maniacal laugh holding the baby in his arms.

Then the farmhouse. Ziva watching as her daughter, imagined always with Tony's eyes, even though it is genetically improbable. Her daughter has her hair, and is holding a gun. _She must fight_ , a voice that sounded like her father's always said.

They were likely going to name this baby for her sister.

Talia rather than Tali, as if adding the 'a' would change her fate.

Would save her.

Yet, she could not imagine naming her daughter anything else. She and Tony, had gone through a whole naming website of suggestions, checking then against Talia, to see if they could find a better fit.

Maya, Ayla, Hannah, those names and hundreds others had been vetoed.

They had a name, _Talia_. The baby would be called Talia.

"I am excited," Ziva said, trying to turn the conversation.

There are moments of excitement. Moments where her hands tingled with excitement.

She has found that touching baby clothes evoked this primal excitement. She could not override her brains ability to find small things cute.

She and Tony have been gifted enough baby clothes to clothe the baby until she was walking, but Ziva had her own secret stash. She had been unable to leave a red carted big box store without picking up some new printed swaddles and bibs.

The stash is hidden in a box in basement. In the huge storage room, neither of them go into very often. Tony did not know about the stash.

Once she was home, the old country superstition sets in.

What if the baby never came?

What if she had allowed herself to hope, only for it be taken away?

"Is your mother excited?" Rana asked.

Ziva sucked in a breath.

Rana was not talking to Ziva. She was talking at Ziva.

"My mother is dead," Ziva said matter of factly.

Her mother is dead. Her sister is dead. Her father is dead.

So is her Schmeil. So recently dead, that he did not yet have a gravestone.

Not that she would ever visit the grave once it is permanently marked.

Her life is here now.

"Oh," Rana uttered.

All of them are missed.

But, as her has midsection has swollen, and little feet have kicked her bladder, she had found it is her mother she missed the most.

She wanted nothing more than to lay next to her mother. Like they used to in the Haifa beach house. The smell of salt from the sea. Her mother in between her and Tali. All three of them with books in their hands. The distant hum of the radio.

When the nightmares wake her, often as her bladder has become dangerously full, Ziva walked through the house.

Her swollen feet padding on the carpet. Tony sleeping on.

In her half asleep state. The past, present and future all melded together. Padding down the hallway of the house, Ziva could hear her mother's humming. It so out of tune, that it sounds nothing like the pop song she is emulating.

Ziva spends her nights, padding up and down her house, searching for her mother, in halls she never walked in.

The computer let out a shrill beep, crashing Ziva into the present.

Ziva pulled open the drawer of her desk. The drawer of the cards, Ziva and her colleagues called it.

There were cards for different organisations in the area; financial services, translation services, and counselling services.

Her organisation, sorted through all the services, made connections, and directed people.

"My mother was dead when I became a mother," Rana declared.

Ziva blinked a few times. Carefully situating herself.

"She died in childbirth," Rana said. "Maybe, that is why my daughter will not have a baby. Maybe, she fears a curse."

Ziva's breath hitched in her throat.

Had Rana become a doctor to save mothers, unlike her own?

The past is never past.

Ziva reached for the card for the counselor. The counselor they said many of their Arabic speaking clients to, is a second generation immigrant proficient in Arabic. Culturally competent, her university lecturer would call it.

*My mother-in-law stayed at my house for the first few months after my daughter was born," Rana declared. "I did not like it, she had so many ideas. By the time my son was born, she had passed. I missed her telling me that the baby was too hot."

Ziva let out a breath.

If she could not have her mother, how she longed for a mother-in-law.

Catherine DiNozzo had been dead before Ziva had even been born, yet she touched Ziva's life. Time was linear, but then not, all at the same time.

A quiet formed between the two of them.

Ziva held the card in her hand. Hesitating, would Rana take this with offense.

There were so many moving parts in this job. That was why she enjoyed it so much.

Ziva handed Rana the card. Rana's scarred face betrayed no expression.

"I do not need this," Rana uttered.

Ziva sat silently. So many of the services they directed clients to were for the constant state of emergency the clients lived in. She handed out vouchers for baby formula, called emergency shelters, and helped them fill out medical forms.

Rana had a roof over her head, food, and people who cared.

"My daughter sees one every week," Rana uttered. Her voice harsh. "They go over the same things again and again. Then she comes home and asks me questions about what happened."

Ziva sat still. Listening was all she had to do.

"I could feel things were getting bad," Rana uttered. "It was like I was standing on the hill and could see the big wave coming."

Ziva nodded.

"I sent her away. I saved her," Rana said. "I wanted to go too. My husband did not, he was sure I was overreacting. I was trying to get my son out. When-"

Rana waved her hands, providing enough explanation.

Ziva filled in the blanks. Rana and her daughter were the survivors. A family cut in half. Two out of four.

"I wish it had been me," Rana declared. "My son could have come here instead, then my daughter would not be so alone."

Ziva knew this feeling. This pain.

Survivors guilt.

She had survived so much. She had outlived so many.

"My daughter acts if she was there too," Rana said, her voice cracking. "She refuses to live. I sent her away to live."

Ziva looked at Rana.

"Doctor Shabab does family counseling," Ziva said. "You and your daughter could go together."

Rana let out a sob. Ziva felt her heart heave.

Her own eyes were glassy.

"Daughters are precious," Rana said, her eyes fixed on Ziva's stomach.

Ziva ran her hands over the basketball under her shirt. She had never been the little girl who put a ball under her shirt and imagined herself pregnant. Now, that she was actually pregnant, sometimes she stopped in front of a mirror just to study herself.

She was in awe.

Pregnancy was both back breaking, and amazing. All at once.

"Yes," Ziva said.

The baby kicked. Talia, they were going to call her.

The creature inside her was preparing to enter the world.

The dangerous world where everything could be swept away in an instant.

Ziva looked at Rana.

Ziva dipped into the drawer of cards, and picked up a leaflet.

She handed Rana the leaflet for the Arabic playgroup.

Rana's mouth opened and closed. Confusion.

"I do not have small children," Rana said. "My daughter refuses to have children."

Ziva nodded.

"They are always looking for volunteers," Ziva said.

Rana frowned and used her hand to opened the leaflet awkwardly.

Ziva watched as Rana read the leaflet.

The playgroup was more than just a bunch of toys and squealing kids. It was designed to be a community outreach. They had visiting health promoters and nurses, and other services.

"I could make a call, if you would like to volunteer, I think you would be very welcome."

Rana looked up at Ziva.

"I would scare the children," Rana declared, waving her butchered hands.

Ziva frowned.

"Children are resilient," Ziva said softly. "I think the parents would welcome you. When they find out you are a doctor, you will be swarmed."

Rana shook her head.

"I was a doctor," Rana said, looking down at her mangled hands. There was probably worse scaring, hidden under her baggy clothes.

Rana needed to be busy. Ziva had cottoned on to that pretty quickly.

"You can still be useful," Ziva said.

Rana looked around the room.

"You are good at this," Rana muttered.

Ziva felt a smile cross her face.

Maybe?

She was doing good in this world. Building peace.

"Maybe, I will see you at the playgroup," Rana said. Pointing to Ziva's stomach. "In the spring."

The playgroup was miles away from Ziva and Tony's house. Ziva also wondered what sort of reception she would get. Her necklace over her engorged breasts. The Jewish baby and her Italian last name.

Still, she had referred many clients there, that she might find at least one familiar face.

"Maybe," Ziva said.

The baby kicked.

"Maternity leave always goes by so fast," Rana said. "Everyone expected me to stop working when I had my daughter. But, how could I, there was so much work to do. So many people needed help."

Ziva rubbed her stomach. The baby kicked again.

She had been offered a desk job in the pumpkin walled squadroom, from Vance when she first laid down her guns. If she was still there, translating documents or sitting on the MidEast desk, she would be looking at three months of leave. Maybe, even more if she had vacation time to cash in. She would not be looking at her paycheck and realizing that after taxes, the rest of it would be eaten up by daycare costs.

Instead, she and her boss were going sit in the meeting room with calendars and schedules. Ziva and her baby were inconvenient to the organisation.

Maybe, her boss would simply put her hands in the air and help Ziva pack her box.

Maybe, then the choice would be made.

She could focus on one thing, not have to be constantly juggling.

Work and home. Home and work.

"There is," Ziva uttered.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

I know this is a bit out of the box. Fear not we will go back to our regular characters next week.

The maternity leave issue will come up in the next chapter. We're in the third trimester, and getting closer to the birth.

Thank you so much for all the love, and kind words.


	21. Two Cups, Equally Filled

Ziva heard the slam of the back porch door, and Tony's footsteps. His new winter boots on the kitchen floor.

Tony was right on time.

"Traffic was murder," he said. "You'd think this would be the one week of the year, I don't get through Sinatra's greatest hits on the way home."

His backpack hung off one shoulder. His coat was over his arm. The walk from the garage to the back porch, was too short to warrant a coat for Tony.

Ziva on the other hand, spent the extra minute putting on her coat, only to take it off again.

"You looking at Hanukkah menus?" He asked.

Hanukkah was later than Christmas this year. Stretching between Christmas and New Year. They were hosting a small Hanukkah party that weekend. There last party before the baby came. Their last big holiday before the baby came.

This was their new yardstick for measurement. The baby's due date. Whether she would be on the inside or the outside, when something happened.

Ziva watched as he dumped his backpack on the table, and looked longingly at the crock pot on the counter.

She had sent him a photo of the stew she was making. He had all day to want it.

"Not exactly," she said.

She adjusted her self on the couch.

The ASRC was closed for the week between Christmas and New Years, except for the Wednesday food bank. Which Ziva's boss and some volunteers were handling.

Fletc did not hold classes during this week, but Tony had opted not to take vacation, like he had the previous year, to save the days for his upcoming paternity leave. He had managed to negotiate ten days, trying to balance work and home. His two cups.

He moved across to her, and placed a kiss on her forehead.

"Hi," he said. "Missed you."

His cold nose touched her cheek.

"Hi baby," he whispered. Placing his hand on her bulging midsection.

She had been convinced that she had grown to full capacity. Yet, each week she gained more and more pounds, and the stretchy maternity shirt pulled tighter.

"What did you and Ima do today?" He asked. Still talking to Ziva's midsection.

Ziva looked up at him.

"Not much," she admitted. Guilt stewed through her. "Except learn just how much noise the roomba makes."

Tony took a seat on the couch. He moved a cushion.

He had been the one who brought the roomba into their lives, liberating them from vacuuming. It was usually run, when they were out of the house.

"Good," he said. Tony looked around the house.

"I do not like being this lazy," she said, as she rubbed her hip. It hurt.

"You've earned it," Tony declared.

He took her hand. His eyes fixed on the laptop that was balancing precariously on the arm of the sofa.

"You looking for Hanukkah presents?" He asked.

They decided to limit presents, for both Christmas and Hanukkah this year, claiming they were spending too much money.

They had gone to Gibbs craftsman cottage for Christmas. It had been potluck style, and like Thanksgiving, the others had orbited around Ziva, bringing her plates and plates of food.

It was fitting, seeing as she was the size of the moon.

"I know we agreed no presents," Tony said.

Ziva looked at him. Early in their engagement, they had done the love languages quiz. Tony liked to give gifts and receive gifts. Ziva liked acts of service, she liked to cook for those she loved, and she would go weak at the knees if Tony cleaned the bathroom.

"I already have your presents," Ziva said.

Their ritual involved giving gifts on the last night. Tony liked to give Ziva eight small themed presents; one year it had been eight books, another year it had been eight spice blends, and another it had been eight bottles of wine.

Ziva's gifts followed similar rules, but she was not so strict. This year, she had some classic DVD's, and an expensive toiletry gift pack.

"Won't get to open the best one for a couple of months, yet," he said. Hand on Ziva's huge belly.

The baby kicked.

Her due date was the last Friday in February, but Ziva was sure the baby would be early. Her body was destined to fail her.

Each time she felt a cramp, she would calculate the rate of survival of a baby born at that many weeks.

Anxiety buzzed in her head like bees. Buzz. Buzz.

"I have been looking at some things," she declared. "Some things I want to show you."

Tony tapped lightly on Ziva's stomach. Urging the baby to kick.

The baby did.

Even while she was in the womb, her daughter was playing with her father.

Her daughter would have such a fantastic father.

"Please say beach vacations," he murmured. "I'm over winter."

Winter had blown through the mid Atlantic. While, they were yet to see snow. It was cold, dark and icy.

Anthony D DiNozzo Junior needed his vitamin D.

He was always grumpier after the holiday's, when the lights were put away and the cold truly set in.

"My doctor has forbidden me from flying," Ziva reminded her husband. "And, sitting in a car for a whole day does not sound appealing."

She rubbed her hip just thinking about it.

Her swollen feet throbbed. Her back ached. Everything ached.

"Maybe next year," he said, with a smile on his face. "We'll be those people nobody wants to sit next too."

She smiled.

Would their daughter be a good flyer?

What would their daughter do when they ocean lapped her feet?

Shriek with fear. Squeal with delight.

She could already picture Tony holding their little angel, as the waves crashed on the shore.

She would be at least three months old for memorial day.

Maybe, too young for a plane, but old enough for a drive to the coast. Virginia Beach maybe, or the Delaware Coast.

"Maybe," she echoed.

Tony looked at her. Smile on his face.

He was pale now, with a red nose, but when they took the baby to the ocean he would be tan with a hat on his head and a smile on his face.

She refreshed the screen on the laptop. The excel spreadsheet, and websites stared back at her.

"I have been looking at things," Ziva said, sucking in a breath. "Financially."

Tony's cheeks reddened.

Money was not an easy topic for them. It never would be.

Senior had stolen that peace from Tony.

"We're fine financially," Tony declared. Quickly.

In truth they were better than fine. Tony earnt enough to support all of their living expenses. Ziva's income, which had been as little as five times his during her studies, was their fun money.

And, they had her inheritance, which saved them from student loans, PMI on their mortgage, and ever carrying a balance on their credit cards.

Still, her inheritance was a point of contention for Tony. He did not like to use it.

"I know we are," Ziva said.

They were. Unlike, their single friends who worried another rent increase might spurn them further out into the suburbs, they had mortgage security.

Unlike Jimmy and Breena, Eli's inheritance did not come with conditions. Jimmy, had to sit through a lecture every time Ed helped them out.

Unlike, Senior who attempted to live a champagne lifestyle on a beer budget. If, Tony and Ziva were not renting the apartment to him, his social security cheque would not go far enough in their high cost of living area.

Tony scanned the website, and excel spreadsheet.

"I am talking about when the baby comes," Ziva said.

It was still such a novel thought. Just, as Ziva had gotten used to the idea of the baby as an interloper in her body, the baby was getting ready to make her grand entrance.

One would become two.

"We've got money for that," Tony replied.

Between renovating the basement, the unexpected trip to Israel, and the various weekend trips, they had by some minor miracle been able to save some money.

A buffer they had called it, as they stared proudly at it grew along with Ziva's midsection.

"I mean after that," Ziva said. "Look at this."

She pointed to the excel spreadsheet.

She had done the math multiple times wanting to change the answer. All afternoon, she had googled different options.

Tony's eyes widened.

"Even if we get a good deal on daycare," Ziva declared. "It would eat up everything I earn."

Tony looked at the spreadsheet again. He counted on his fingers.

"You're sure?" He asked.

Ziva nodded.

Mother's sacrifice for their children.

And, it seemed she would have to sacrifice her job.

"I worked it out with the lowest daycare price," Ziva said, her voice cracking. "It will likely be more expensive until she is at least six months."

Until the baby was at least a year old; daycare, taxes and transport costs would be more than her salary.

"Can you ask for more maternity leave?" He asked.

After a long afternoon with schedules, and calendars, Ziva and her boss, had come up with a maternity leave. She would get one weeks before the due date, and six weeks after. Seven weeks total.

She had to be back at work for the second Monday of April, because a new class would be starting. Ziva would be post-partum; sleep deprived and probably still bleeding.

The new contract was also for only six months, and for far less money.

The one solace had been that the baby would likely arrive early.

But, hopefully not too early. The baby had only a small window of time, where her arrival would not inconvenience anyone.

"No," Ziva replied.

Her boss, had sighed as she handed Ziva the proposal. _I'm sorry_ , she had said.

Twelve weeks. She had asked for that. She had hoped for that.

Her boss could not give her that.

If she was still an agent, even at a desk job, she would have gotten twelve weeks, and would not watch her paycheck getting eaten up by daycare.

The baby kicked.

Ziva reminded herself that if she still worked among the pumpkin walls, she might not have this baby.

She might have imploded.

She had been swimming in the milk, not noticing as it turned to butter.

"Well, it's only for a few months," Tony said. "We can tighten our belts, right?"

They could forget about beach weekends, dinners out, and re-doing the kitchen.

"It would be better financially," Ziva started. "If I waited to go back to work."

Things might look better after six months.

She would not be standing in front of bewildered students, with wars raging inside of them, still bleeding and pale.

"Will your boss hold your job?" Tony asked.

Ziva frowned.

"No," she said. "She said she would write a good reference."

Her boss had mentioned this, when they first started talking about the options. Her boss, was a decade older than Ziva, had not had children. She had channeled the American work ethic, that new immigrants guzzled into building the organisation.

She rubbed the belly under her shirt.

She knew they were lucky. His income alone, could support them reasonably. They had her father's money for a rainy day, and it was enough for the worst of the storms. Ziva would not be the stay at home mother, who clipped coupons and worried for every dollar.

"Do you want this?" He asked.

Ziva's mouth dried.

Did she?

It felt like an impossible choice.

Why couldn't she have both?

"It would not be forever," Ziva replied.

Her mother had been locked in their sky-high apartment during Ziva's early years. She had been held back by domestication, and by a husband who was always away.

Eli was never the type of man who would do the school run, even if his job had kept him close to home.

Ziva told herself, there was no danger of history repeating itself. Tony would do just as many bath times, and diaper changes.

"How long, are we talking?" Tony asked.

How she wished she could have both.

Two cups.

Work and home.

"Six months," Ziva said. "No longer than a year."

Tony nodded. Calculating, not the financial expenses, but the other expenses that came with this choice.

During, those pre-marital counselling sessions, the winter after the miscarriage, Ziva had been open with the fact, that she would not like to be a stay at home parent. She wanted to build a life, where she could be present at both work and home.

"If I have complications," she said, "It would be unlikely I could return after six weeks."

Tony winced.

Ziva had talked at him, listing off possible complications.

A bleed that could kill her. Or at least render her infertile.

A skyrocketing blood pressure, that could kill her.

She had gorged on this knowledge. In the aim of being prepared. This knowledge made her belly ache, and her heart race.

"But, everything looks okay," he asked. His voice cracked. "Right."

Ziva nodded.

Her blood pressure, which had been a concern earlier in the pregnancy, was now within reasonable levels.

The baby's heart rate was healthy.

There was no bleeding. The placenta was in the right place. The baby was in the right position.

Everything was looking good.

Yet, Ziva still found herself looking around the corner for the next bad thing.

"Yes," Ziva said. "We are okay."

For the last eight months she had spoken for two.

Tony looked back at the spreadsheet. Flicking between boxes.

"It is not just about me," Ziva started, working through the well rehearsed points she had worked through that afternoon. "The daycares I have looked into, have long waiting lists, she is due so soon."

Tony sighed.

"We do not have someone who we could leave her with," Ziva declared. "If she was not ready for daycare when I went back, or if we cannot get a place."

Both of their mothers were long dead. Senior had declared himself ready for babysitting duty, but Ziva knew there was a difference between a couple of hours with a napping toddler, and an entire day with a very new newborn.

"Do you want to do this?" He asked. He waved his hand in the screen. "To quit your job."

Ziva took in a breath.

"Technically it is not quitting," Ziva said.

She had quit NCIS. Handing in her gun and badge. Along with Tony and McGee, in defense of Gibbs.

Then she had declined to pick them back up again.

Getting out of the fire before it burnt her.

When she had quit NCIS, she had so many options.

She felt free.

This time she felt pushed. Trapped. There were no options.

It would be irresponsible to spend more than her income on childcare. It would be difficult to go back to work, while still recovering.

"You know what I mean," he said, a frown etched deep on his face. "Refusing the contract."

Ziva looked at the screen.

What else could she do?

"I cannot imagine leaving a six week old in daycare," Ziva replied.

She knew there were people who did not have choices. Women with tears who returned to their heavy lifting jobs before their six week appointment. Women who had to leave their previous new babes with an overwhelmed relative, or dodgy neighbour.

The world could be such a cruel place.

"Could you go part-time?" Tony asked.

Part-time would mean that after day care and taxes, would be much more than Ziva's income. She also knew that at her job, if part-time was available, it would mean fitting a full time workload into half the hours.

There simply was not enough money or time, to help everyone.

"Doesn't your place have interns in the spring?" He asked.

Her organisation was losing funding. There would only be one intern this year.

"I asked," Ziva said. "The best we could do is four longer days in return for Friday off."

Tony sighed. Ziva recognized this sigh. How she wanted the answer to be different.

His commute, while manageable for their area, but it meant he would be scrambling to do daycare pick up.

Even if he did, they would be scrambling to keep up. Home would be a rush for dinner and bath time. The two of them would never see each other.

"I thought you would be more open to the idea," Ziva said. "If I stayed home, it would be like the movies."

The husband walking in the door with a briefcase. The wife trapped in the kitchen. That's how it worked in the sitcoms he watched.

Tony shook his head.

"Its nearly 2017," Tony replied. "We're gonna be equals in this parenting gig."

Ziva looked away from him.

That had been their plan. Working near equal hours, and doing an equal number of bath times, and bed time stories.

Things never went to plan.

"We are not equal in terms of income," Ziva said.

At least when they were agents, their incomes were comparable. Hers lower because of her tenure. His higher because of his Senior Field Agent status.

If they were still agents, Ziva reminded herself, the baby would probably not be there.

"If it could be me," Tony said. His voice drifting off. "Like, if one of us who had to take a career break. I wish it was more of a choice. Or we could both do a couple of months. You know?"

Ziva touched the globe under her shirt.

The baby inside her, would know the whole world.

"I know," she echoed.

Tony reached for her hand. Squeezing it tight.

"In Sweden they have mandated paternity leave," he declared. His voice drifting off.

Two cups. Home and work.

Ziva looked at him.

"In Sweden they have over a year of leave for both parents," Ziva said. Remembering what she had read. "Being home for those early months is supposed to be good for the baby."

Tony looked down at Ziva's huge belly.

This would be good for the baby.

"No wonder Swedes are so beautiful," he said.

Tony placed his hand on her hard stomach.

"I bet she'll be beautiful," Tony said. His voice softening. He was trying desperately to lighten the mood.

Ziva nodded. Tony looked up at her.

"Just because you'll be home," Tony started. "Doesn't mean I won't help. Seriously, the minute I walk in the door, you can put Talia in my arms and disappear."

Talia, Ziva thought. It was the first time he had said her name just like that.

A warm feeling filled her.

"We will work it out," Ziva said.

Tony looked at her.

"You okay with this?" He asked again.

Mothers sacrificed for their children.

"It is not forever," Ziva said.

Her home would not be her prison.

Not like her mothers had been.

"No," he said. "Whenever you're ready to go back, just say the words. We'll make it work."

Six months. She told herself. That was her deadline.

She would start looking for a job by the time the baby was six months old.

She had already drafted an inquiry to the translation agency she had worked for during her degree. She would try and get some freelance work before the baby came, to top up their savings account.

Maybe, she could get some work she could do at home.

"It is what is best for our family," she said.

She had heard this so much. It was tacked on to the end of every chapter of the parenting books said.

 _It is about what is best for your family_.

There would be a whole chapter about the benefits of breastfeeding, then a couple of paragraphs about bottle feeding, with the same line.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm kinda jealous of all the fun you two will be having."

Ziva rubbed the huge ball under her shirt.

She has only thought of the negatives.

Her brain was so ready to jump to the worst, to focus on the loss.

Not of the joy.

 _You must find the joy_ , Schmeil had commanded.

She will get to be there.

For all the tiny moments.

Would she get to witness Talia's first smile?

Sometimes when the baby fluttered in her, Ziva felt these pangs. Love.

Maybe, once she set her eyes on the baby, she would fall down the rabbit hole of love.

And, the idea of going back to work would be permanently banished.

That was a common story. A mother, who fell so deeply and completely in love with her child, that she could not fathom going back to work.

"I will take lots of photos," she said.

He smiled.

"Promise," he said.

"Promise," she echoed.

Tony flicked through the spreadsheet, and then to the PDF's their bank statements.

His mouth dropped open, and she knew what he must have opened. The investment account, which held Eli's money. It was sensibly invested, and had enough in it to pay off the entire mortgage.

Eli's estate had wowed Ziva when the worth was first calculated after all but the farmhouse was sold. The amount was vast. Still, Ziva had found the weight of the money had sagged Ziva's shoulders. She had been struck by the idea, that not all of the money was hers.

In the end, she had decided to divide the estate into thirds. A third, had been donated to a music scholarship for underprivileged children, in honour of the song bird, whose voice was silent. Another third, had been anonymously donated to the hospital that Ari's mother had helped build. That was where Ari had wanted to return too.

"I was going to make an appointment with the accountant," Ziva said. "To release some funds, to get more of a buffer."

Tony shook his head.

"We'll be okay," he said. "I got a pay rise, remember? "

He stumbled around the computer. She watched as he read the letter advising her boss she would not be renewing her contract.

"And, we have Dad's rent money," Tony added. "We'll be okay."

Ziva nodded.

The baby kicked. Ziva's bladder was full. Ziva had a few seconds, before she would wet her pants.

She dug her hands into the too-soft couch. Getting up was a mission. She needed a crane.

Tony noticed, and moved to the laptop to help her.

"I really did like that job," Ziva said softly, as she walked across the kitchen toward the half-bath.

She had loved the job. It was what she had wanted, to help people who had lost their way.

The stories she heard were harrowing. The tales of woe, played in her head.

But, it was not like NCIS. She could see the hope, instead of the despair.

She had wanted this baby too. It had been part of that vision of the future, she promised herself when she put down her guns.

She wanted something permanent, something that could not be taken away.

She had worked hard for this baby.

Why couldn't she have both?

Ziva waddled into the half bath.

The decision had been made.

"Hey," Tony called. His voice getting closer, following her. "Did you see that Dad hasn't paid his rent this month?"

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

When I first started writing this fic, I was going to give Ziva maternity leave. Then I researched, maternity leave entitlements in the US, and childcare costs in the area our little family live in. Therefore, this chapter was born.

I am sure the choices I gave the characters, are real choices people have to make, and with every choice there is a bittersweetness in the choice that is not made.

The next chapter, will feature Senior.

We're probably a few more chapters away from the grand entrance of a certain little miss.

Thank you so much for your reviews.


	22. Falling Far From The Tree

Tony took a deep breath as he walked down the hall of his fathers apartment building. His keys jangled in his hand, his winter jacket was heavy in the overheated hallway.

An old neighbour breezed past, carrying a suitcase. It was the week between Christmas and New Years, and people always seemed to be coming and going. The neighbour, an older woman who had lived in the building forever, raised an eyebrow at Tony, before being swallowed up by the elevator.

It had been the same look, his old doorman had given him, as Tony slipped through the main doors, shivering from the cold.

 _What are you doing here?_

 _You don't live here, anymore_.

This wasn't his home.

Tony slowed his walk, as he reached the door of the apartment.

He studied the hallway, and its cream coloured walls. It had been a few months since, he had actually been to his father's apartment. Senior, came over to their house every Friday, and often stayed for Saturday brunch, after crashing in the basement or guest room. They had picked Senior up from outside the apartment, when they had gone to Thanksgiving and Christmas, but not actually gone inside.

Tony sighed as stood outside of his door.

He had snuck out of work early, which had been surprisingly easy because of the lack of classes on campus. If anyone had asked, he would have said something about a family commitment.

Technically, it was not a lie.

His work colleagues, many of whom were of Gibbs' generation, or more traditional, were always surprised by Tony's commitment to his family. When Tony had mentioned that he was going to have a daughter, one of his colleagues had said he hoped Tony's next child was a son. He and Ziva always planned kids as a plural, but he would be more than happy to be surrounded by estrogen.

Tony leaned his head on the door.

How was he going to do this?

The elevator dinged. There were footsteps in the carpeted hall.

"Junior," Senior called, as he walked down the hallway.

Senior had his thick coat draped over his arm, and a red scarf around his neck.

"What are you doing here?" Senior asked. "I thought we were doing Hanukkah tomorrow."

Tony and Ziva were planning a small Hanukkah gathering on the Friday before New Years. They had invited all of their friends, and promised latkes and sufganiyot, as well as Ziva's famous chicken brisket. Everyone was excited, the thread on the messenger app all of them used to keep in touch had been buzzing all week. Ellie was excited for the food. Jimmy wanted to continue the dreidel competition from last year. Gibbs, had even promised to attend, when he had waved them off after Christmas.

It would be their last party before the baby came.

Tony had to talk to his Dad, before the party.

"Needed to talk to you," Tony said.

Senior fished in his pockets for his keys.

Tony stepped forward, and put his own key in the door. Like had almost every day for over a decade.

"Thanks," Senior said softly.

The apartment had not changed much since Senior had moved in. Tony had moved into Ziva's cramped little rental, when Senior had moved to DC, and into Tony's apartment, so Tony had not bothered to take much in terms of furniture with him. When he and Ziva had brought the house, and suddenly found themselves with an extra living room, and two spare bedrooms to decorate they had mostly bought new furniture, with Ziva taking the decorating lead.

"Is everything okay?" Senior asked, as he opened up the coat closet, and put his coat on a hanger.

The main difference in the apartment was the lack of piano. Senior had not been attached to it, and the plan had been to move the piano into the house, when it was brought. However, the David-DiNozzo dream house was too narrow even for the baby grand, so it had been sold to a music store, and traded for an upright piano, that lived near the coat closet. At the moment the piano was more of a decoration, but Tony could not shake the image of sitting at the piano with his daughter on his lap.

Would she inherit her parents love of music?

Senior had put an high-back lazy boy armchair in its place. The rug was still there, and Senior knew about the blood stain that lived underneath.

"Sorta," Tony said.

Tony's mind drifted to his own living room the night before. Listening as Ziva revealed they would be better financially if she did not go back to work straight away.

Tony's heart has sunk, as Ziva had shown him how much money they would be hemorrhaging.

Ziva had always been upfront that she had not desire to be a stay at home parent, but would perhaps look into part-time work, in order to balance work and family.

Now, the choice was made for her.

Then, as Ziva went to relieve her under pressure bladder, and Tony had checked their bank accounts, he had discovered the Senior had missed the rent this month.

Tony had been distracted through dinner. Ziva had been quiet too, resigning herself to her fate.

When Ziva had gone to sit on the couch, with a bowl of ice cream resting on her huge belly, and a book in her hand, Tony had scanned through the bank account for the last year. Wanting to see if there was anything he could cut from their expenses to give Ziva more options. He had also wanted to see just how many times Senior had missed his rent.

Just as Tony had suspected. Senior had missed the rent more than once. In June it was completely missed, and made up with drables of payments in July and August. In September and October it had been late, but only by a few days.

"It's getting more real now, isn't it?" Senior declared, as he walked through the apartment, toward the kitchen. "You hungry?"

Tony padded through the apartment, walking a familiar path to the kitchen Senior kept more stocked than Tony ever did.

"I came to talk," Tony said.

Senior was standing at the fridge. Tony recognized a tupperware container that belonged in his own kitchen. Ziva had a habit of sending Senior home from their house with a container of food.

Senior closed the fridge without, picking anything out.

Senior darted through the kitchen, and picked up a bottle of wine and two glasses. Wine was the language Senior knew.

"Is everything okay?" Senior asked.

Tony sat down at the dining table, in the uncomfortable leather chair. Senior poured the wine, making a fuss about making sure the two glasses were equal.

Tony took the glass, but did not touch the red liquid. It was a school night after all. He still had to drive home.

"Ziva and I," Tony started. "We've been looking at some things, before the baby comes."

Senior took a long sip of his wine.

Tony looked out the window. The sky was dark now, it had been grey when he left work.

His phone buzzed. A light vibrate. Tony ignored it.

"There's a lot to talk about," Senior said softly, before finishing the glass of wine.

Tony sunk deeper into his seat.

Maybe, he should just let sleeping dogs lie?

It's not like they had even noticed Senior short paying the rent. They were good financially. Senior was clearly not.

But, it was a matter of principle.

"We've been talking about money," Tony uttered.

Senior's ears reddened from under his thick hair.

Tony was so jealous that he had not inherited his father's thick hairline. His own hair was thinning and falling out.

Money was never an easy conversation among the DiNozzo men.

"Turns out daycare is pretty expensive," Tony said, letting out a breath. "Like really expensive."

Senior's brow furrowed. Confusion.

Tony looked at the wine. He wanted a drink.

Senior poured another drink, and took a small sip.

"We've went through our bank accounts," Tony continued. "Since Ziva started working, we got kinda lax with that."

Senior's face reddened.

Tony shifted in his seat.

This was an interrogation.

For just a second, he was back in that grey windowless room. Sitting quietly waiting for the perp to crack.

"I've been expecting this for a while," Senior said. Slipping deeper into his seat.

Tony sighed.

"I'm sorry," Senior said. His voice cracking.

Tony looked out to the kitchen this conversation was getting too heavy.

"I know the rent is late," Senior said softly. "The money will be in your account before the new year."

Tony remembered, sitting with the calculator on his phone, working out whether Senior had caught up the missed rent from the previous summer, with the drables of payments in July and August.

"I always make it up," Senior replied. "I always do."

Tony looked back at his Dad.

"What happened?" Tony asked.

Senior took a long sip of wine. It left a purple mark on his upper lip.

"I want you to know," Senior started, as he looked away. His face was getting redder by the second. Tony knew this look, embarrassment. "That I am so grateful that you and Ziva let me stay here. I know you could be making a lot of money off this place."

The rent Senior paid them was a little under half of his social security cheque. Tony had initially asked for only a third of the cheque, but Senior had insisted.

"We're happy to do it," Tony said. "We like having you close. Besides, if you google this place you find out it's past, not everyone wants to live in a murder house."

Since they had gotten closer, Tony had always worried about how Senior was getting by financially. Tony knew his father had much less money than he pretended to.

"I'm excited for the baby," Senior muttered. "I always wanted you to have children, and I always wanted to be there when you did."

Tony smiled.

His Dad had always been so excited about this baby. From the second he had worked it out, when he helped them sort out groceries, a smile had formed on his face.

 _Things are going to be different_ , Senior had promised. _Things are going to be better._

"I know," Tony said softly.

His Dad still had not answered the question, but Tony did not prompt him. Like all good interrogations, he would let Senior tell his story. Let him list his justifications. The truth would come out in the end.

"I never pictured my golden years like this," Senior admitted. He looked down at the table. The wood was covered in the aqua blue place mats, Ziva had brought Senior as a 'housewarming'. "If I wasn't living here on discounted rent, I'm not sure where I'd be."

Tony sucked in a breath. The rich women Senior had courted was not just him trying to climb the ladder, but in these later years an act of survival.

"I thought you had a retirement account," Tony said.

Tony had never seen proof of this retirement account, which was apparently funding Senior's lifestyle, but had taken his father's word for it.

"I did," Senior said, as he took the blue place mat into his hand, and started picking at the blue fabric. "But, it was lean. It took quite a hit a few years ago, it was high risk, which isn't a good idea at my age, I was trying to play catch up."

Tony's heart sunk.

Senior's social security cheque would not go very far in the DC metro area, even with his discounted rent.

"Dad," Tony said softly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Senior frowned.

"I know I should have been honest," Senior admitted. His lip quivered. Tony felt his own chest tighten. "I was honest with Linda, and we all know how well that turned out."

Linda, Senior's most recent fiance had dumped him over two years ago, but Senior was still licking his wounds.

He had really loved her.

Tony had called Linda's daughter a few week after the break-up to try and find out what had transpired. He had been convinced that Senior was hiding something. It turned out that Linda, who had felt trapped in her first marriage, had gotten cold feet. She did not want to spend her golden years, ironing another man's shirt or cooking his dinner. Senior was asking her for something that was too traditional.

"You could have told me," Tony said. "Or at least Ziva."

Ziva was the one in charge of Senior's tenancy, she was the one who was supposed to monitor the bank account, and pay the utility bills, as Senior's rent included the utilities.

Senior sighed.

"I was going to talk to her," Senior admitted. "About missing June's rent, but you two had only just gotten back from Israel and then she got such bad morning sickness."

Tony blinked. Ziva's misnamed morning sickness, seemed so long ago. It had been a short few weeks in terms of the pregnancy, but had been debilitating at the time. Ziva had been weak and exhausted.

She had also been so anxious about whether the pregnancy would continue.

"Yeah," Tony said. "That was a crazy few weeks."

Senior nodded, and took a long sip of wine.

"What happened in June?" Tony asked.

He had been so angry, when he had noticed the dates of the missed rent. While, he and Ziva were away, holding Schmeil's hand as he took his final breath, Senior had stiffed them.

"It's embarrassing," Senior said, with a frown.

Tony looked through the window.

"It's embarrassing that I am dependent on your's and Ziva's charity to have somewhere to live," Senior declared, his voice rising. "It's embarrassing that I have nothing to show for my life."

Tony sucked in a breath. There were not assets to Senior's name, not even this phatom retirement account.

"I know," Tony said. Feeling his own face redden. "Maybe, we should talk about the rent. Ziva and I are being greedy."

Senior shook his head.

"You aren't," Senior said. "You two have been so good to me."

Tony looked at his Dad. How old he looked. How scared.

"Dad," Tony said again. "What happened in June?"

Senior turned in his seat.

"Moving here," he said softly. "Has been hard. I love being close to you and Ziva, but I don't have many friends my own age."

Tony had tried to encourage Senior and Ducky to hang out, with them being of similar ages, but the two never seemed to click when they were not with other members of their chosen family. Senior had also tried to make friends with Delilah's mother Judy, who had moved to DC when Delilah returned from her secondment. However, Judy was only in her sixties and still worked, so their friendship had not blossomed as Senior wanted it too.

"Didn't Ziva put you in touch with that senior centre?" Tony asked.

Ziva, because of her new job, had made Senior a bit of a project. She had taken him to a senior centre to make new friends, and he had ended up volunteering there.

"The people there are so old," Senior declared. "And, there's only so much mah jong you can play."

Senior might be early into his ninth decade, but he was still so vibrant. Still so full of life.

He still wanted so much from the world.

"I must have mentioned something to Abby," Senior declared. "We have lunch every once in a while, she put me in touch with Breena, who put me in touch with Ed."

Tony scrunched up his face, he did not particularly like Ed, who was too involved in Breena and Jimmy's marriage. Still, he could see how Ed and Senior would make good friends.

Still, he was touched that Abby was so concerned about Senior's loneliness. Abby had fit Senior into her life, as if they were related.

"Ed let me hang out with him and some of his buddies," Senior said. "Most of them are good guys."

Tony had heard of Ed's buddies from Jimmy, who Jimmy referred to as Ed's crew. Ed had been friends with many of them since he was in college. One of them had a son who was a year older than Breena, and who had been Breena's boyfriend in high school. Ed and his buddy had started to see wedding bells, but that had come undone when the son came out as gay.

"So you've made some friends," Tony said, with a smile. "That's good."

Senior shook his head.

"It was," Senior said softly. "Ed is the only one who still works, so I didn't see too much of him."

Tony nodded. He was glad.

"Probably a good thing," Tony muttered.

Senior smirked, for just a second. It was a welcome moment of levity, after so much heaviness.

"Ed's friends, they all did pretty well for themselves," Senior declared. "I might have been a bit liberal with the truth, when I was with them."

Tony shifted in his seat. His Dad would never change. Always so concerned about the image he portrayed.

"George and I got pretty close," Senior declared. "George took a while to fix his relationship with his son, after he came out, so we sort of bonded over rebuilding relationships."

Tony felt his heart sink.

He wondered if Senior had used this bond to get free drinks or lunches.

"Anyway," Tony said. "George knows of this poker game, he invited me. I'm pretty good at poker, I thought I'd clean up pretty nicely."

Tony fiddled with the wine glass. He still had not touched the wine.

"Turns out, I've lost my touch," Senior said. "I was playing in the big leagues."

Tony frowned.

"I had to pay my debts," Senior declared. He fiddled with his wrist, where a watch used to sit. A watch that Tony had gotten Senior for a birthday a couple of years ago. A watch that had been given away to settle a poker debt. "I had some savings, not too much, but it was enough."

Tony sucked in a deep breath.

"I was going to come clean," Senior declared. "Then you told me Ziva was pregnant, and I couldn't ruin that."

"Technically, you guessed," Tony said.

Tony remembered that hot July day, in the kitchen at his house, with all those boxes of crackers.

"What about that wine tour, you got me for my birthday?" Tony asked.

Had Senior used his last few dollars to buy his son a birthday present, to keep up appearances.

"I brought those tickets before the poker game," Senior declared. "From one of those coupon websites, they were non-refundable."

Tony nodded.

"That was a good tour," Senior said. "I enjoyed that."

Father and son, had been driven around some of the finest vineyards in Virginia, and enjoyed a tipsy afternoon. The two of them had not spent that much structured time together, without anyone else, in a long time.

"So are you having another bad run?" Tony asked. "Is that why the rent is late again."

There was a harshness in the 'again' but Tony was frustrated.

"I haven't been back," Senior replied.

Tony raised his eyebrow. He wasn't sure he believed him.

"I haven't hung out with Ed and his buddies either," Senior said. "Mahjong is the only game I play these days."

Tony frowned.

"Why?" Tony asked.

Senior looked at Tony.

"You told me about the baby," Senior said. "I couldn't risk missing out on the baby, because you two kicked me out."

Tony sighed.

"Dad, we're not going to kick you out," Tony declared. "I just need to know what's going on."

Senior blinked a few times. Relief crossed his face.

"What happened this month?" Tony asked again.

Senior shifted in his seat.

"My car is in the shop," Senior uttered.

The car, was a beater car that Tony had acquired for Senior, when Tony and Ziva had moved to the suburbs, because Tony wanted Senior to be able to get to them. Technically, Tony and Ziva lived within walking distance to a metro station, but it was a long walk.

Tony had called it a birthday present.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Tony asked. "Ziva knows some great mechanic's, you've seen what she does to cars."

Ziva's driving had calmed as her life got more peaceful, but she was still prone to revving the engine.

"Junior," Senior said, his voice heavy. "You give me discounted rent, you brought me a car, I can't ask you to cover a mechanic's bill too."

Tony sighed.

"I've been settling up your bills for a while now," Tony muttered.

Senior's face flushed red.

"I didn't want it to be like that," Senior said. "I wanted it to be like it should, I didn't plan for a retirement that looks like this."

Tony looked around the apartment.

It was even emptier than it had been when Tony lived in it.

This was all Senior had left.

"I know," Tony declared, his voice softer now. "I know you had some bad years."

Senior fiddled with the place mat.

"I'm glad you learnt from my mistakes," Senior declared. "You save, you don't chase things you can't afford, and you've got that lovely little house."

"That's all Ziva," Tony said softly. "We have that house because her Dad left her some money."

Eli had left them a crap ton of money, something Tony was still not entirely comfortable with.

"If we didn't have that," Tony admitted. "I'd probably be measuring up the dining room here for a crib, and Ziva would have gone into a ton of debt for school."

Would Ziva had considered school, if she didn't have Eli's money?

"Still," Senior said. "I'm glad you two have that. I'm glad you two won't have to worry."

This was worry. His father was stressed about money. It hurt Tony to see.

"Ziva's not renewing her contact," Tony declared.

Senior frowned.

"She loves that job," Senior said softly.

Tony nodded.

"Yeah," Tony said, feeling his voice crack. "She did, but they wanted her back six weeks after the baby was due, and the cost of childcare, would eat up everything she earns."

Senior looked through the glass door.

"I won't miss another rent cheque," Senior said. His voice cracking. "I promise."

Tony sighed.

"I don't want you to stress," Tony said softly. "Ziva and I will be fine."

They were more than fine. There was a guilt in that. If the money had been built by decades of hard work or savings, the guilt would be less, but Eli's money was like a lottery win.

There were so many people who did not have enough in their bank accounts to get through the week, yet Tony and Ziva had a small fortune.

"It won't be easy to carry two mortgages on your income alone," Senior said.

Tony shifted in his seat.

"We only have one," Tony declared, deciding to tell his Dad the truth. "We paid this one, when we brought the house. Ziva was still in school then, we wanted a mortgage that we would carry on my income alone. Having it paid off, its taken the pressure off."

Tony could still remember the blow out fight he and Ziva had, when she suggested that she pay off the remainder of his apartment mortgage, to allow them to get approved for a slightly bigger mortgage.

Ziva had seen her suggestion as helpful and smart. Tony had still overreacted, not wanting to be mooch. Not wanting to be that guy, who was dependent on his wife's money. Especially, since they were organising the wedding and the house at the same time. Eventually, he had calmed and agreed to Ziva's idea.

"We'll let the rent slide this month," Tony said softly. Giving his Dad some kindness. "We'll call it a Hanukkah present."

Senior shook his head, but Tony continued.

"And, we can talk about reducing the rent," Tony offered. "It's really just fun money for me and Ziva. I don't want it to stop you from going out and having fun."

The plan was to put Senior's rent money in an account set aside for the baby. They had been warned just how expensive children were.

"I have fun," Senior said softly. "Not like I used too, but I'm getting to old for that."

Tony wasn't sure he believed him.

"I spend a lot of time at the Senior centre," Senior declared. "It's by a metro stop, so it hasn't been effected by my vehicle situation. On Wednesday Ida brings a cake, so it's one of the highlights of my week, after Friday dinner of course."

Tony squirmed in his seat.

"I don't like the idea of you being lonely," Tony said.

Senior shook his head.

"I'm not," Senior said softly. "Not anymore. Your friends have become my friends, and I've got you and Ziva. Sometimes Margie and I, share dinner. You know the woman down the hall."

Tony felt his mouth dry.

He knew the old lady down the hall. The one whom Senior had a dalliance with, in Tony's bed. The old lady, who had seen him earlier today, and raised her eyebrow as she rushed for the elevator.

"Are you two?" Tony asked. "You know?"

Senior shook his head.

"No," Senior said. "Just friends. She had quite the life, still does. She's flying South to get away from winter, I've gotta pick up her mail and keep an eye on her place."

Tony let out a breath. Relief.

"I'm very lucky Junior," Senior said, his voice heavy. "At the Senior centre, there's a lot of people who are in really bad situations. Their families either aren't around or don't have anything spare. A lot of people, are trying to live here on social security alone. On Thursdays, the Senior centre has a food bank, and there are line is out the door."

Tony thought of the tupperware in Senior's fridge. Ziva always sent him off with so many leftovers.

Did she see what Tony didn't?

"Do you use the food bank?" Tony asked.

"No," Senior said. "I volunteer there, and I try to donate what I can."

Tony nodded. Relief flooded him again.

"Good," Tony said softly. "Good."

A quiet brewed between them. Tony's mouth was dry. He got up from his seat, and walked to the kitchen.

Where did his Dad keep the water glasses?

"It's supposed to be good for babies," Senior started, as Tony fished in the upper cabinet for a glass. "To have someone with them for those first few months."

Tony nodded.

Would it be good for Ziva?

"Yeah," Tony said, with a sigh. He had found a glass, and was filling it up with water. "Still, it's a big change for Ziva. She really did like that job. I feel like I'm taking the job away from her."

Senior shifted in his seat.

"I wish it could be more fair," Tony said, as he walked back to his seat, and sunk in. "I wish we could both take some time off, and both go to work. It's like that in most of Europe."

Senior smiled. A huge smile. Was this pride?

"You're going to be a good Dad," Senior said. Tony took a sip of water.

Tony's eyes flitted around the room.

"I'm gonna try," Tony said.

All he could do was try.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Thank you so much for all the reviews and love.

I'm glad the previous chapter went down well. I live in a country, with paid maternity leave, thought ridiculously expensive childcare, which often keeps a least one parent (usually the mother) home with the children long after infancy. I'm glad that chapter didn't go down as preachy

The next chapter will also feature Tony, and then the chapter after that will concern childbirth.

I've finished drafting/planing this fic, and we're looking at 44 chapters all together. Which means, we're only halfway through. Oh, my! Thanks for sticking with me, through this crazy adventure.

Next chapter, will be up next week.


	23. Not Now, But Soon

"That'll be you soon," McGee declared, as he stood next to Tony by the stairs in Jimmy and Breena's open plan living room.

They were at Jimmy and Breena's house to celebrate Tori's second birthday.

For Tori the party was probably one of the last, where adult guests would outnumber children.

"Yeah," Tony said softly.

The game of the moment was some sort of stop and go game. Tori, and her three little friends were dancing. Jimmy was in charge of the music and seemed to being enjoying the dancing as much as the kids.

There was so much laughter, from the adults and the kids alike. There was so much joy.

Tony looked across to the dining nook, where Ziva was sitting next to Delilah. Ziva's belly was out over her lap. Ziva had declared herself to be a million months pregnant, when Tony had helped her put her shoes on earlier that day.

 _Not long to go_ , Tony had said as he had helped her out of the car. Ziva had smiled with relief.

She caught Tony's gaze from across the room, and smiled.

Normally, they would be in talking distance, but the toddler squeals and music they could only smile.

"Thanks for helping today," McGee said looking down at his feet.

The Palmer house was all stairs, which was not wheelchair friendly. To get into the house, one had to climb ten snow covered stairs, or get in via the garage, and go up the stairs into the family area.

Tony had been roped into helping Delilah get up the stairs. Delilah's face had flushed red as Tony and McGee carried her up the stairs.

Delilah had adapted well to her new life, but it was in those moments of helplessness, that her facade crumbled.

"Ziva had trouble with the stairs too," Tony declared. "I don't know how they do it with a stroller."

Ziva had taken a while to climb the slippery steps. She was so unsteady on her feet these days, with the extra weight and the hormones.

"Yeah," McGee said.

It was not the Palmer's fault their house was so inaccessible. Delilah had still been in Dubai, and Delilah and McGee's relationship still so tenative, when they had brought their house. They had also had to rely on help from Ed, and Ed's help came with conditions.

Jimmy and Breena's modern townhouse was two blocks away from Ed and Breena's step-mothers downsizer condo.

"Maybe next year," Tony started. "The party will be at a play centre."

Tony looked to the three other children dancing. Two of them, were twin boys, who were the same age as Tori, but because they had been so premature, were behind developmentally. One of the boys, had a walker. He was unsteady on his feet.

"Yeah," McGee said, looking toward the table.

Ziva had moved, she was standing in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, as she talked to one of Breena's friends, the mother of the other little girl.

Like, the barbeque Tony and Ziva had held the previous summer, a divide between guests had occurred: parents and non-parents.

Abby, Ellie and Delilah were huddled by the table, near Ducky. Ed and Breena's stepmother were sitting on the couch which had been pushed right to the wall.

Gibbs had been invited, but had declined. He had given Abby a gift to give the birthday girl.

Breena, the mother of the other girl, and Ziva were in the kitchen. The mother of the twins was with the Dad's on the makeshift dance floor.

"I bet you're already planning Baby DiNozzo's first birthday" McGee declared. "You do like a party."

Tony smirked. He did like a party, and when he and Ziva had brought their house, they had envisioned lazy barbques, bustling holiday parties, and loud birthday parties for birthday people, with ages in the single digits.

There would of course be the Brit Bat, not long after the baby arrived, something Abby had been very excited about, as there would be no baby shower.

"She's not even here yet," Tony declared.

He looked to the kitchen, Ziva was stuffing a child sized sandwich into her mouth.

"Still," McGee said. "Not long to go."

Tony smiled at Ziva, from across the room.

"Three weeks," Tony said, remembering what his Daddy-to-be app had told him earlier that day, when it buzzed him with a suggestion to download a contraction timer app, and make sure he had packed his Daddy bag for the hospital.

He had downloaded the app weeks ago, and the bag was ready to go. He always did pack a good go-bag.

Tori's birthday was the first week of February, and Baby Girl DiNozzo was due in the last week of February. Maybe, one year they could do a joint birthday party.

"Wow," McGee declared, sounding a decade younger than he was. "You know I still can't believe you and Ziva are having a baby."

Ziva had been convinced that the baby would arrive early. Convinced her body would let her down.

To reach thirty-seven weeks, considered term, had been a relief. A lightness had come over her.

There had been a scare the week before. Tony had come home, to find Ziva pacing the living room, experiencing contractions. Tony had been ready to put Ziva in the car, and drive to the hospital, but Ziva had refused wanting to wait it out.

Tony had used his timer app, as the contractions continued during that evening. He rubbed Ziva's back, like the app had said. The pains remained inconsistent, and eventually tapered off.

Ziva had gone to the doctor the next day, who had declared it to primordial labour, a practice run for the real thing. The real thing was expected to be weeks away.

"You know," Tony declared with a smile. "Sometimes I can't either."

Tony had already made room for the baby in his life. He had painted a nursery, started hoarding diapers, and googled various baby care questions.

Still, the baby was abstract.

He had seen her in the sonogram scans. He had helped name her. He had felt her kick, when he rested his hand on Ziva's belly.

Still, it was like she was far away. He could not quite reach her.

He had not felt her kick on his bladder. His body had not changed to make room for her. It was not his career that was on hold.

He could only see the baby, like a distant shore, but with each week he felt himself getting closer.

His daughter was coming.

"I think she's more real for Ziva," Tony said softly.

The mother of the twins, picked up one of the boys as he started to kick up a fuss.

What would his daughter be like, as a toddler?

Wild or calm. Or maybe a mix of both.

"I feel like I'm waiting," Tony said. "For Ziva, she's already here. She thinks for two people, she talks for two people."

For Ziva things were already a 'we', and always so. Tony had asked her why she had started to use 'we' instead of 'I' and she had admitted she did not know she was.

"That's very poetic," McGee said.

The music stopped. The three reaming kids hit the ground, and giggled.

The Dad of the little girl, stood still and the kids shook their heads.

The game was a simple one. The players could dance when the music was on, but the minute it stopped, the players had to sit down. The last person to sit down was 'out' Despite toddlers being unsteady on the feet, it was always an adult who managed to be out.

The Dad moved to the side of the living room, waving at his blonde daughter. The little girl's tiny lip quivered.

The Dad walked to his daughter, and scooped her up. She clung to his shoulders.

"I think it's time for our picnic," Breena declared from the dining table.

The parents swarmed around the kids. A tiny bottle of hand sanitizer was squirted into tiny hands.

Ellie and Abby sprung into action, laying a blanket on the floor. Delilah wheeled behind them balancing four toddler sized plates on her lap.

The party had a 'Snow Fairy' theme. Some winter themed Christmas decorations had been re-purposed, and for a whole two minutes Tori had run around with fairy wings on, before discarding them. Abby and Breena had managed to keep their fairy wings on for whole party.

"You seem so zen too," McGee declared as they hung back.

Tony looked around, at where he was spending his Saturday afternoon. In years past, or with anyone else's kid Tony would have got a moderately expensive gift and made up an excuse for his absence.

"Really McObservant," Tony declared.

Now, Tony was looking at his future. Though he and Ziva would pick a much better theme for a birthday party than 'Snow Fairy'.

"Jimmy was a mess," McGee declared. "I'd probably be a mess too."

Tony raised an eyebrow. McGee and Delilah were getting married soon, and it seemed that they were thinking to the future.

"Are you and Delilah working on a little science experiment of your own?" Tony asked.

McGee looked down at his shoes.

"Let's see if we get through the wedding first," McGee declared, as he looked across to Delilah.

Delilah was talking to the mother of the twin boys. The mother was looking over Delilah's wheelchair, a sad look in her eyes.

The four children were eating, or rather squashing toddler sized sandwiches and refusing carrot sticks.

"Have you still got too many cooks in the kitchen?" Tony asked.

McGee let out a chuckle.

"It's better," McGee declared, as he turned back to Tony. "We took your Dad's advice."

Tony raised his eyebrow. When had Senior and McGee had a chance to chat one to one.

"I don't think you should listen to anything my Dad says about marriage," Tony declared.

"Maybe not," McGee said. "But, apparently he knows how to put on a good wedding. He suggested we give everyone jobs. We decide what we could handle being less than perfect and hand over those jobs to people who want to help, like my Mom."

Tony nodded it was sensible advice. Tony and Ziva's wedding had been a quiet affair with a dozen guests. Tony and Ziva had not had to worry about seating plans or RSVP's. All they needed was enough food for everyone, and enough booze. Everything else had fallen into place.

"Smart," Tony said.

McGee pulled out his phone.

"We've even got an app," McGee declared, as he brought up a wedding app. A screen with a bride and groom came up, with percentage signs in front of them. "Judy's helping us a lot, so that's why Team Bride is on track."

Team Bride had completed 68% of the required tasks, compared to 37% of team groom.

"We'd be lost without Judy," McGee declared. "Dee and I, have both been pulling eighty hour weeks, we barely get time to see each other, let alone plan a wedding."

Tony liked Judy, Delilah's mother, and how she had slipped into their little family network. Judy, had moved to DC to be closer to her younger daughter, and had attended a few holiday parties. At the most recent Christmas, she had handed Tony and Ziva a secular 'Happy Holidays' card, with a baby store gift card and her number, if ever they needed a babysitter.

"Let me know what you need," Tony declared, as he looked at the app. "Add me to Team Groom."

The kids were getting fussy on their picnic blanket. Their little high pitched toddler squeals punctuated the air.

"You're gonna be pretty busy in a few weeks," McGee said, as he put his phone away. "I can't put more on your plate."

Tony let out a breath.

He looked to the seat, where Ziva had been. It was empty. He looked around and saw Ziva stepping out of the tiny half bath. Her face was flush, and her hand was on her hip. Sciatica had plagued her pregnancy.

She gave Tony a smile, and moved back to her throne.

He nodded.

"Even if you're not freaking out," McGee started, but trailed off.

The freaking out was relative. Ziva had been the more anxious one in the pregnancy. It was happening to her body.

"It's not that I'm not freaking out," Tony said, letting out a heavy breath. "It feels kinda like it did when I moved to FLETC."

McGee frowned. He didn't get it. A McKid, if one happened was a few years away, and he still spent six days a week surrounded by burnt orange walls.

"I was nervous then," Tony admitted. "It was such a big change, but then I got excited, and I hadn't been that excited about work in a long time. I'm really excited about the baby."

McGee looked across at Delilah who had moved to Ziva's side. The two of them shared a plate of toddler sized snacks.

"Good," McGee said.

"It took us such a long time to get here," Tony declared.

The nine months of unprotected relations were quite short in the scheme of things. The pregnancy had operated in two different time zones, both exceedingly long, and eye blink short at the same time.

But, the idea of his and Ziva's baby had been in the universe for a long time. It had been part of the conversations they had in Israel, when Ziva gave him a crash course in her past while they tried to make a present, and imagine a future.

A baby had been part of the five year plan, Tony announced during those early months of their relationship.

First comes love, then comes marriage, and then comes the baby carriage.

It had been what he grieved for, when a very unexpected pregnancy ended with Ziva sobbing into the phone, and a futile hospital visit.

Their false start.

As this pregnancy stuck around, and blossomed, Tony had been able to understand his grief for the miscarriage more.

It had been for what could have been. What they had never known.

"Yeah," McGee said.

Tony looked to Ziva and Delilah. Delilah was showing Ziva something on her phone. Ziva was munching on a carrot stick.

"Ziva's been reading a ton," Tony said.

The huge novels that used to sit on Ziva's nightstand, had been replaced by books about pregnancy and motherhood. Ziva studied for motherhood with same fever that she had studied during her degree, and her for her American citizenship test before that.

She was trying to use the books to fill a void, and plaster over the fact she didn't have a mother, or a mother figure, to ask all her questions to.

"And, you've been watching the movie," McGee joked.

Tony smirked.

Movies would always be his first love.

Movies were what he and his mother did together. Train rides into the city, back when New York was not a gentrified hipster heaven. Movies, were what he and Ziva did together sometimes, curled up on the couch, and laughing. He wanted to share movies with his daughter, he wanted to watch her eyes light up when the screen filled, and the story was told.

He couldn't wait for those lazy afternoons.

"I tried to," Tony declared. "I can tell you that Nine Months is much better than Knocked Up, but the problem with those movies, is they always end when the baby is born."

McGee frowned.

"A happy ending," McGee declared. "The baby is the happy ending."

First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage.

Then what?

"Yeah," Tony said, with a sigh. "But, that's not what I want to know. Neither Ziva or I had the best childhoods, or the best Dad's, I wanted to know how to be a good Dad."

Tony really wanted someone to sit him down, and tell him how to be a good Dad.

"But Senior," McGee started, before the words fell flat.

Tony knew exactly what Tim was trying to say.

At least Senior was still here.

At least Tony and Senior had been able to put water under the bridge.

In the rankings of their fathers and the foment they had caused their children. Eli David took the gold medal, Admiral McGee took the silver, and Senior the bronze.

They had welcomed Senior into their network, adding him to secret Santa lists, and group chats.

Senior had not been officially invited to Tori's birthday party, but he had brought a small gift for the child, for Tony to hand over.

Had they forgotten the stories Tony used to tell.

The neglect.

The Christmases where Tony had watched his school friends being picked up, one by one, until he was the last one left.

 _But, he promised_ , Tony had whined, as the lone teacher who had stayed behind directed Tony back to his dorm.

Things were better now, but they had worked hard to get there.

"I mean," McGee stammered. "I mean, you and Senior had been able to build bridges."

Tony smiled.

They had. Mostly, because Ziva flitted between them, and cooked Friday dinner.

How natural Friday dinner now felt. How Tony found himself looking forward to the full dinner table, as he drove home from work. How he was looking forward to see his daughter being passed around happy relatives, while the shabhat candles flickered.

"Yeah," Tony declared, directing his eyes to Ziva. Her hand protectively over her belly. "I know you and Ziva didn't get that."

Their daughter would never know her parents pain.

Her childhood would be happy.

"No," McGee said softly. "But, I've made peace with that."

Tony nodded. It had taken McGee a while to deal with all the scars the Admiral had left.

Tony looked around the busy room.

The kids were playing on their picnic blanket. Breena was in the kitchen putting two candles on a white iced cake.

"Good," Tony said. "Good."

The kids were getting restless.

So was Tony.

Tony smiled at Ziva, she was using the table to help her move slightly. The mother of the little girl gave her sympathetic look.

"Do you want to know what I'm looking forward to most?" Tony asked.

McGee cocked his head, encouraging the conversation.

"I'm looking forward to actually help," Tony said, as the Dad helped one of the twins wipe his face. "When Ziva and I planned this, we always agreed we'd do this parenting gig fifty/fifty."

Both of them working, both of them looking after the baby.

"I thought Ziva was gonna stay home," McGee said.

Ziva had worked her last week at the ASRC, in the first week of the new year. Her colleagues were sad to see her go, but understood her reasoning.

Her boss, had been very sad. Wishing she could do more.

"Yeah," Tony declared. "It's just for a few months. Once, daycare isn't more than the mortgage, she's gonna go back to work, unless she doesn't want too."

McGee nodded.

"Even though she's gonna be home. It's not gonna be all Leave It To Beaver," Tony said, repeating what he had said to just about everyone. "I'll be doing just as many diaper changes and late night feeds."

McGee looked to Delilah. A soft smile on his face.

"I know," McGee said softly. "Can't really see you hanging back."

"I wish," Tony let out a heavy breath. "I wish, it had been more of a discussion rather than a foregone conclusion. If our incomes were more equal, maybe it would have been more equal."

McGee looked out the window.

The snow had come out, perfect for the snow fairy theme.

Not perfect for getting out of the house, and all its stairs.

"I just don't want her to resent me," Tony said his voice cracking.

McGee sucked in a deep breath.

"I worried about that," McGee said, with a frown. "When Dee was offered that second secondment, and I didn't know how to ask her to stay."

Tony remembered that. The phone calls between Tony and Tim, often during Tony's commute, where McGee had worked through his feelings.

 _I don't know if we can take another separation_.

 _I can't ask her to stay just for me_.

 _She's worked so hard. She's had to fight for her career._

"And, now the two of you are getting married," Tony declared.

McGee smiled.

"Exactly," McGee declared. "Everything worked out as it should."

Tony looked again to Ziva, who was talking to the mother of the other little girl, no doubt trading pregnancy horror stories. As soon as people saw Ziva's stretched out abdomen, they launched into stories of their own or someone they knew pregnancies. In the supermarket line, a woman had made small talk with them, and told them all about her niece who did not even know she was pregnant, until she gave birth.

Ziva was laughing. Her curls bouncing.

Maybe, it would all be okay.

Maybe, by the time their chosen family gathered to celebrate his daughters first birthday, all of this would be forgotten.

Or at least these lingering anxieties would become more pressing worries.

Tony nodded.

He was the wildcard.

"Jimmy's such a good Dad," Tony declared.

Jimmy was making all four of the kids laugh.

Jimmy was the type of Dad Tony wanted to be.

Breena was walking toward a cleared area of the table, with the white iced cake.

Ziva motioned her hand for Tony to come closer.

The kids were hustled toward the table. Tori carried in her father's arms. Her tiny hands wrapped around his neck.

Tony would have one just like that soon. Though probably not with blonde curls.

"You will be too," McGee declared.

The two of them followed the kids toward the cake.

One step in front of the other.

He moved next to Ziva. Placing a kiss on her forehead. She was sitting down.

He watched as she tensed, and rubbed her back.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

The happy birthdays were over, and Tori with the help of her parents blew out her candles.

She looked up and nodded. She motioned her head to the kitchen. They needed a moment.

He offered her, his hand. Any other time she would have refused, but she was eight and a half months pregnant, and had to pick her battles.

Ziva waddled toward the kitchen. Tony followed.

The kids were greedily eating cake, getting it all over the cherubic faces. The adults were chatting.

Abby was looking up at them, a smile on her face, and her eyebrow raised.

"I think I lost my mucus plug," Ziva declared, as they stood in the cramped kitchen.

Tony felt his heart soar. He gripped on the counter.

He went back through all the parenting books he had listened to on his commute to work.

Ziva handed him her phone, with a photo open. He blinked a few times at the photo, and looked away.

"You took a photo," he said, as he handed her phone to her.

Ziva nodded, and slid the phone into her maternity jeans.

"For my doctor," she declared. "I have an appointment on Wednesday."

Pregnancy had turned them into crazy people. They were so neurotic about every little thing, and it would only get worse once the baby came.

Tony remembered what the parenting audiobooks had said, the mucus plug breaking free was a sign the labour was on its way.

"So, she's coming," Tony whispered, trying desperately to sound calm.

Would they even have to worry about the appointment?

Did they need to go the hospital?

How far was Jimmy's house from the hospital they were registered at?

The adults were laughing. One of the kid had more cake on his face, than he could have possibly eaten.

Ziva shook her head.

"Not right now," Ziva declared, as she rubbed the basketball under her shirt.

Tony bounced on the balls of his feet.

"But soon?" Tony asked.

Ziva looked up at him. A smile on her face.

"Yes, soon," she declared, a smile on her face. "At this point, the sooner the better."

The baby was coming, not now, but soon.

The baby was coming.

He reached for Ziva's back, and rubbed it.

Abby walked toward them. White fairy wings, on her all black outfit. The other kids had been amazed by her. She was so tall, and so unlike anything they had seen before.

"You guys are missing the cake," Abby declared. "We saved some cake for the baby."

Ziva turned slightly, a smile on her face.

She waddled toward the table.

Abby smiled.

"Is everything okay?" Abby asked.

Tony smiled. Everything was more than okay.

"Yeah," Tony said.

The baby was coming.

Not now, but soon.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Thank you so much for all the love.

This chapter is sort of a filler chapter, needed to progress the story, but kind meh.

I'm playing it a bit fast and loose with the mechanics of childbirth, and two year old birthday parties. Please forgive me.

We're getting closer.

Also, those last 45 secs of the season finale. Oh my heart.


	24. The Night Before The Longest Day

Ziva frowned as she walked across the landing, from the main upstairs bathroom to the bedroom she and Tony shared.

She was forty weeks, and three days pregnant, and was beyond exhausted.

She had taken to using the slightly bigger main bathroom in these last few weeks, as there was more room for her to move. More, than once she had found herself hitting her back on the shower door, when she moved from the toilet, when she tried to navigate her and Tony's ship tight en suite.

She rubbed the basketball under her sleep shirt. The grey sleep shirt, had been worn all day, as even Ziva's most forgiving maternity clothes had gotten tight.

Everything felt heavy. Physically, and mentally. Like she was swimming through mud.

She stood in the doorway of the bedroom, looking at the room. It had been one of the first rooms, Tony and Ziva had decorated, when they closed on the house. Tony had spent a whole weekend, painting the room a soft robins egg blue, which suited the period features of the house, and saved them both from another bedroom painted apartment beige.

She looked across to the armchair, which sat by the walk-in closet, the previous owners had built, by closing in what had once been a reading nook. The plump grey armchair, was usually where clothes that were worn but not yet dirty got dumped, but in recent weeks Ziva had been more militant about keeping it tidy.

Tony called it nesting. Always with a smile.

Nesting had also led to her spending an entire afternoon, folding and refolding some of the clothes, that had collected in preparation for the baby.

She had also cooked enough freezer meals to sustain them for the first few weeks, and cleaned out the pantry.

Part of it was nesting. Part of if was wanting to fill her days. Since, she had left her job, her days felt so empty.

She was waiting.

Patiently waiting.

Ziva walked across the room, looking out the window.

It was the second-to-last night of February, and the dark was pitch black. The weather report, warned of the possibility of snow.

Tony had studied the weather report with a serious look on his face, before going out to the car and checking if the tires were ready for snow.

He'd had a nightmare about delivering the baby in the car. More than once.

Ziva's eyes moved quickly, to what was standing under the window.

The co-sleeper.

Out of the box.

Patiently waiting, just like Tony and Ziva.

The co-sleeper was one of the few things, Tony and Ziva had actually brought new for the baby. Ziva had moments of superstition about buying baby gear, before the baby actually arrived, and they had friends who had more than enough baby items to spare.

Ziva ran her hands over the grey fabric of the co-sleeper. She and Tony, had disagreed over co-sleeping. Ziva had no objections to just bringing the baby to bed with them, knowing that she was a light sleeper. Tony was resistant . He feared accidentally squashing the baby, and said he knew he would never be able to sleep soundly knowing that he could do that. Ziva had not liked the idea of the baby being on the other side of the room in a crib. She wanted her close. She was sure the baby would want them close too.

The co-sleeper had been a compromise. They had managed to find one, where one side, could be pulled down, and tucked under the mattress.

The baby would be close. Within arm's reach.

Ziva touched her huge belly, and smiled at the co-sleeper.

Soon.

Soon her belly would be empty, and the co-sleeper full.

There was noise behind her, and Ziva turned around. Tony stepped out from the ensuite, wearing the grey NCIS t-shirt he tended to sleep in, and a pair of boxers that had seen better days.

"I was about to send out a search party," he declared, as he walked toward her. "I thought you might be stuck in the bath again."

He reached her, and place a hand on the small of her back.

"That only happened once," she said softly.

A few weeks ago, when Ziva had felt crampy, she had decided to take a bath, while Tony was watching a football game in the basement.

The bath had gone well, until Ziva tried to get up. Her balance was so off-kilter of late, and she had scrambled, to try and get up.

She had called out for Tony to help, but the basement was soundproofed.

In the end she had to use the smart home system McGee had helped them install to get her phone to call Tony, who came to rescue her.

"Scared me half to death," he said, as he started to rub her back.

Her back ached constantly these days.

"You assembled it," Ziva declared, as she ran her hand over the co-sleeper.

It was empty except for the crib mattress which was covered by a fitted sheet, following all the SIDS prevention guidelines.

Tony's hand moved up her back.

"Figured, we wouldn't have time tomorrow," Tony said.

Despite being certain that the baby would arrive early, Ziva had gone past her due date.

Ziva had read everything she could about preterm labour, and the outcomes of premature babies born at various gestational ages.

She had not read up on going past due.

She had not read up on how to deal with the waiting.

The waiting was torturous.

Ziva had never been a patient person.

Tony's hands moved up to her shoulders, and then started rubbing her upper arms. It all ached.

"Have you had any more contractions?" Tony asked.

Ziva had been having episodes of contractions on and off for weeks now. The contractions were mostly painless, but still distraction. A couple of times, the contractions had started to follow a pattern, and Ziva had told Tony. But, as quickly as the contractions started, they would taper off, leaving frustration in their wake.

"No," Ziva said.

At her last doctors appointment, the day before her due date. Ziva's doctor had raised the idea of induction with Ziva.

The baby was measuring large, and was engaged. Ready to go. Ziva's previously well-managed blood pressure, was starting to rise.

 _Your body has had enough_ , Ziva's doctor had said all knowing.

Still, Ziva was resistant. Childbirth was what her body was built to do, and surely she should trust her body to know what to do.

 _You've suffered enough_ , Ziva's doctor had declared, as Ziva and Tony sat in the tiny room.

Tony had agreed with Ziva's doctor. He was ready for the baby.

Ziva wanted to trust her body.

She did not want, what the books and their uber crunchy neighbour Aimee, called the 'cascade of interventions'.

Eventually, she and her doctor had struck a deal. Ziva's body had a four day weekend, to get in to gear. If nothing happened, Ziva and Tony were to report to the hospital for an induction on Tuesday.

She had not had so much as a twinge since they left the doctors office.

Her body was failing her.

"Okay," he whispered, as he wrapped his arms around her now widened hips. "You ready for tomorrow?"

Ziva's bag had been packed for weeks. She had consulted multiple websites and books deciding what to pack. She had decided to include a set of night clothes for each night she expected to be at the hospital, but skip the make-up.

Her weekender bag, and Tony's backpack were both sitting on the couch downstairs, as if they were going on a trip.

They were not travelling far in terms of miles, but they were about to embark on the most important journey of their lives.

The car seat was already in the back of Ziva's car. Tony had double and triple checked that it was in their securely.

In this journey two would become three.

"I have been packed for weeks," she declared, as she untangled herself from his arms, and lowered herself into the armchair.

Her back ached. Her swollen feet throbbed. She was tired right through to the bone.

Tony sat on the foot of the bed, and looked at her.

"Do you want me to rub your feet?" he asked.

She nodded.

Tony reached down and picked up her left foot, and placed it in his lap. Quickly, he fell into the well-practiced rhythm of rubbing her feet. It was something he had done almost daily for her in the last few months.

"Can you believe this time tomorrow, she'll be here?" Tony asked.

Ziva placed her hand on the globe under her sleep shirt. She felt all stretched out. She looked like a beached whale.

Then her hand grazed her daughters back under Ziva's thinned out skin.

It would all be worth it.

"She might not be here by then," Ziva said, as she tapped her taut skin.

Tony looked at her.

"Maybe not," he said, as he rubbed Ziva's swollen ankle. "But, she'll be on her way."

Ziva looked down at the huge stomach.

She knew her baby. She knew what food made the baby kick. She knew that her daughter always kicked like crazy when Ziva hummed.

Yet she did not know what her daughter looked like.

Tomorrow, or maybe the day after she would.

Her daughter would be here. On the outside.

They would be separate.

One into two.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" he asked again.

Was she?

She was over pregnancy, but was she ready to be a mother.

Ziva rubbed her belly.

"Are you?" she asked, speaking to both the baby and him.

Maybe, that was why her daughter had not come yet. Her daughter knew Ziva was not yet ready for her.

"I'm very much supporting cast tomorrow," he declared, rubbing her foot. "It's your show."

Tony put her left foot down, and picked up her right foot.

"I would have preferred," Ziva started, letting out a breath. Even though the baby had dropped. Breathing was still a labour. "That the show begun more organically."

Tony rubbed her heel, and looked up at her.

"I'm kinda glad it's happening like this," he admitted, looking firmly at the huge bulge at Ziva's midsection. "I was always kinda worried that you'd go into labor, while I was at work, and you'd be by yourself. You know how long it takes for me to get home. I had this recurring nightmare, where I ended up delivering the baby, because she came to fast."

Ziva smiled. She knew of the nightmare.

She had been partial to the idea of a planned home birth, but her doctor had declared it to be just a little too risky for Ziva and her baby.

Ziva had let that idea go.

All that matters Ziva had told herself was getting a healthy baby.

"I think it's because you came so fast," Tony declared. "And, because I know how much you wanted a home birth."

Ziva felt her heart heave.

She had wanted that home birth.

She had wanted to labour in the place, she felt the most safe. The place she had worked hard to make safe. The place where nobody could come in unless Tony and Ziva said so.

Her daughter's first breath, would be in a place where her mother felt safe.

"Did you think that I would neglect to tell you I was in labour, so I could get a home birth?" Ziva asked. Her voice cracking.

Tony's eyebrows raised to his hairline, and his eyes bulged out of his eye sockets.

"No," he stammered. "It's just you said you came quickly, and in one of the books I was listening to, said that women often labour like their mothers."

Ziva knew about the audio books Tony had taken to listening to on his commute. She had been the one who introduced him to the app, which had been used to listen to sports biographies before the pregnancy. She had borrowed his phone to check the app that the family used to keep in touch, and found a paused audio book for expectant fathers.

Tony was trying so hard.

"I do not how much of that story is true," Ziva said, as she rubbed her huge belly. "I was told it when I was young, I never got the chance to get a more accurate version."

 _You were in such a rush_ , her mother would say, whenever Ziva asked her to tell the story.

The story had been told at every birthday, and whenever the winter rains started.

 _It was raining when you were born,_ her mother would say.

How Ziva longed to ask her mother now.

She could almost picture it. The two of them curled on the couch. Her mother older than she got to be. Her mother, with grey streaks in her hair, sharing the secrets of pregnancy and childbirth. Her mother the practiced teacher. Ziva the eager student.

"Besides," Ziva declared, waving her hand around her round belly. "I am obviously not labouring like her."

Ziva had arrived exactly on her due date. Mere hours after her father walked through the door exhausted from his latest mission.

"Dad said he thinks I was late," Tony said, as he lowered Ziva's right foot to the ground. "She's obviously taking after me."

At what would be the last Friday dinner before the baby arrived, Tony had asked Senior about his birth. Senior had found it hard to recall the birth of his only child. Tony's birth had not been shrouded in the same legend as Ziva's.

"In more ways than one," Ziva declared, as she dug into the armchair. It was late, and they had to be up early for the induction. She wanted to get a few hours of non sleep to get in. She never could find a comfortable position to sleep in.

There was no chance she was getting a decent night's sleep in.

Tony offered his hand to help her up. Ziva placed her hands in his, and slowly pulled herself up from her seat.

"Are you talking about her size?" Tony asked with a smile. "It's a little early to body shame her, isn't it?"

Ziva felt a dark feeling wash over her. Guilt.

She rubbed her huge belly.

"I would never," she said her voice cracking.

There would be enough people in the world, who would want to bring her daughter down. Ziva would not be her daughters first bully.

She's so raw these days. So easily hurt.

She had two hearts inside of her.

Emotion bobbed to the surface so easily.

"I was joking," he said softly. "I know. You're going to be an amazing mother."

Ziva moved to the bed, but stood still.

She would try.

All she could do was try.

"You're going to be a fantastic father," Ziva replied.

When they had moved into the house, it had been agreed that Ziva would have the side of bed which looked out to the window. She needed to see the sunlight every morning.

Tony adjusted huge pregnancy pillow, so that Ziva could lay down comfortably.

Being comfortable was relative in this stage of pregnancy.

"If it was me," Tony declared, as he lifted the bed covers so she could get in. "I'd have already asked for the epidural."

Ziva lowered herself onto the bed. Her face blushed red. She hated the dependency on others, that this pregnancy had created in her.

"I do not want an epidural," Ziva declared.

The cascade of interventions she said to herself.

Induction. Epidural. Emergency cesarean section.

Ziva's great-grandmothers generation, might have feared that childbirth would kill them. They would have walked for miles, for the option to take pain relief. To be spared from Eve's sin.

Ziva's generation feared the loss of control. Ziva's generation wanted it to be natural.

"Okay," he said, letting out a breath.

He was sitting in the armchair, Ziva had recently vacated.

"I won't hold you to that," he murmured, as he looked at her. "And, I won't tell anyone if you do."

Ziva sighed.

Ziva wished it was a simple as Tony made it sound.

Ziva wished it was simply a matter of wanting natural childbirth.

Wanting to feel the pain, as part of transcendence.

Wanting to have something to laud over other mothers in the playground.

"I am not afraid of pain," Ziva declared.

She had known pain.

Her body had bent and almost broken.

Physical pain could be managed.

She could handle physical pain.

"I know," he said, as he looked at her. "I just don't like the idea of you being in pain."

Ziva adjusted the pregnancy pillow.

"It's not just about the pain," she said.

He moved closer to the bed, and took her hand into his.

It was about control.

It was about feeling safe.

"The epidural numbs you," Ziva said. "And, if I have an epidural I will be trapped on the bed."

The use of the word trapped is deliberate.

She was trapped once.

In a dusty cell.

With men with dark heart.

Men who hurt her.

"The nightmares," Tony whispered, his voice cracked.

Ziva sighed.

The pregnancy books had warned her about the crazy dreams, that the pregnancy hormones produced.

Ziva's were nightmare's.

Saleem holding her swaddled baby, and laughing.

That mechanical laugh, the one that caused Ziva to have goosebumps.

Those nightmares had woken Ziva up.

"I did not want her to be touched by all of that," Ziva declared, touching her belly. "But, that summer it decides so much of my life."

It dictated so much of her life.

It made her conscious of where she stood in relation to a door.

It left her with an ankle which was weaker than the other.

It had made her so afraid to get close to others.

Tony bent down in front of her. He took her hands, and put them to her mouth.

It made her fight for life.

It made her fight for love.

"I need to be in control," Ziva said, her lip quivering.

He kissed her hands. Warm air on Ziva's swollen knuckles.

"I'll be there," he whispered. His eyes were focused only on her. "Every second."

You are not alone, he had told her that so many times.

"I know," she said softly. "I wish it wasn't like this. I wish I could just be excited."

Anxiety had plagued this pregnancy, even before it happened.

She had been so fearful it would never happen.

Then when it did, she had been so worried it would be taken away. Like it had last time.

Then, each cramp and twinge had made her worry, that the baby would come into the world on to be taken away.

Worry had stolen so much joy.

"Oh Ziva," he whispered, his voice cracking.

He reached up, and moved a curl behind her ear.

Ziva felt her heart sink.

She should be happy.

"I love you," he said softly. "Both of you. So much."

Ziva looked at him. His tired face. His bright eyes.

What parts of him would be baby inherit?

His love of movies.

His optimism.

His humour.

He was the only man she could want to be the father of her child.

"I need you to promise me something," she said, as her eyes flitted around the room.

He flashed her his thousand watt grin.

"Anything," he said. He used his spare hand, to hold onto the nightstand. He was too old to be kneeling for this long.

"If you have to make a choice," Ziva started. Her voice cracking. "Between me and her, you choose her."

Ziva's great-grandmothers generation feared dying in childbirth.

Ziva did too. Even though the chances of it happening were so minuscule.

"Zee-vah," he said, dragging out her name. He fell backwards, landing on the floor in front of the bed. "Don't say things like that."

He pulled himself back up, and kneeled in front of her. Hands on her knees.

"Please don't say things like that," he said, fear lacing his words. He sucked in a deep breath.

Ziva rubbed the globe under her sleep shirt.

"There is a chance it could happen," Ziva declared.

Tony let out his breath.

"A like one in a million chance," he said.

Ziva looked at him. His sandy hair. His eyes.

"1 in 3500," Ziva replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tony got up from his position on the floor.

"Of course you looked it up," Tony said as he started to pace the small space between the bed and the armchair. He ran his hand through his hair, pulling at the strands."And, I know why you looked it up. I know you're always expecting the rug to be pulled out from under us."

Ziva felt her eyes well up.

She had been doing so well.

She was finding the joy.

Yet the worry still crept in.

Worry was the thief of joy.

"I know what you're saying is not your fault," he said as he sat down on the bed. "But, tomorrow we're going to get up super early, and drive to the hospital. They'll check on the baby, and they'll check on you, and they'll give you that drip to get things started. Then we'll wait, you'll probably curse me out in every language you know, or offer to give me a vasectomy without drugs. Then tomorrow, or maybe the day after, all of your hard work will pay off, and she'll be born. We'll meet her, and she'll be perfect. Everything will be okay."

He made it sound so easy.

Tony looked at her. His own eyes were glassy.

"I am sorry," she said, as she reached for his arm.

"I know you're just scared," he said, as he untangled their hands. "I read those stats too."

He climbed over her in the bed, and laid next to her.

"I love you," she said, as he reached over her, and grabbed her hands.

"I love you too," he declared, as he placed a kissed on her cheek.

"Are you gonna be okay?" he asked.

Ziva adjusted her position.

The baby was coming.

Her daughter. His daughter. Their daughter.

A piece of him, and a piece of her.

"I think so," she said.

Tony rubbed her back.

"Are you scared?" she asked. "About tomorrow."

Tony shifted in the bed.

"A little," he said softly. "I'm also excited. Really excited."

Excited.

"I'm so excited to finally meet her," Tony said.

He wrapped his arms around her. Pulling her tight. She felt safe.

"What is scaring you?" she asked, knowing she would get a honest answer. They had promised each other honesty long ago, before they ever exchanged vows.

He was scared too. There was a comfort in that.

He stayed quiet for a few seconds. She could hear him swallowing.

"Well," he said his voice quiet. "I've never been a delivery room before, so I'm worried I won't know how to support you. I know we didn't really do those childbirth classes, but I did read up about how to help."

Ziva sucked in a deep breath.

"You will be there," Ziva said softly. "That is more than enough."

He could be her fixation point, like the birth hypnosis program told her to have. He could help her feel safe.

"For every minute," he said softly. "I promise."

He had never broken a promise to her since they promised each other forever.

"I miss Schmeil," she whispered, after a few quiet seconds.

It had been eight months since he had died. A peaceful death, after a long mostly happy life.

Still Ziva felt his absence. How she had wanted to call him during these last few months.

Once, she had called his number out of habit, and gotten the robotic _this number is not connected_ , message and sobbed until her body ached.

Her Schmeil was gone.

"Me too," Tony said softly. He rubbed Ziva's huge belly. "He would be so excited."

Ziva pictured him at her wedding. A huge smile on his face, as he held Tori Palmer.

How easily she had seen her own child in his arms.

How much she wanted him for the Brit Bat, to share stories of Ziva as a young child, while marveling at this new child.

Find the joy, had been his parting words. His final commandment.

"I want her to only know the good in this world," Ziva uttered.

Tony rubbed her back.

"She will," he said. "And, she'll also know what to do when the bad gets in. So it doesn't consume her."

You only know the rainbow after the storm.

Her daughter just might be her rainbow.

 **A/N:**

I don't own a thing.

I just realised that I'm going on a trip next weekend, so the next chapter will be up in about two weeks, sorry guys. I didn't plan to have break during such a critical point of the story.

Also fun fact, if this fic wasn't called The Moments In Between, it would have been called Finding The Joy.

Thank you to everyone who has left some love.


	25. Finding Strength

Tony shook his still wet hands, as he slipped out of the large windowless ensuite attached to Ziva's hospital room. He ran his hands down his most comfortable pants, joggers the tag had called them, when Tony brought them from a big box store with red carts. In any other circumstance, he would not wear the extra soft pants out of the house, even in their slice of yuppie suburbia had an unofficial uniform of active wear.

This was not a normal circumstance.

Tony's eyes flitted around the room, he and Ziva had called home since they had arrived at the hospital in time to watch the sunrise. It looked like the sun would set long before the baby would make her appearance.

The baby would likely be a March baby.

Except for visiting the Palmer family a couple of years ago, when Tori was born, Tony had never been a maternity ward. The hospital room was brighter than a typical room, with an extra plush armchair in the corner. Tony could still smell the disinfectant.

He hated hospitals.

Ziva was sitting on the bed, with a sour look on her face. She had refused the hospital gown the nurse had offered, and was sitting with a tank top pushed up over her huge belly, and a blanket over her lap for modesty. The band which held the fetal monitor was secured tightly to her huge stomach. An IV drip was plugged into her arm, which was dispensing the magic juice which had gotten the whole party started. One of her legs was sticking out an angle from her blanket, while the other was tucked under her stomach.

It was nothing like it was in the movies.

Tony moved closer to her, his sneakers squeaking on the hospital floor.

He opened his mouth to speak, but watched as Ziva's eyes closed. He knew this dance. He turned slightly and clocked the contraction monitor, watching as the line started to creep up. The heart rate monitor for the baby flashed, with its tiny heart. The numbers changed quickly.

Ziva's mouth dropped open, and her hands dug into the blanket.

Tony could hear her breathe.

That was how Ziva wanted it. At first he had tried to talk during the contractions, hoping to distract Ziva from the pain. Eventually, as the pitocin started to do its work, Ziva had asked him to be quiet, when she had contractions. She needed to be in the zone.

She referred to the contractions as surges or waves, and had to lean into them.

 _Each wave is bringing you closer to your baby_ , the baby hypnosis program had declared when they listened to it earlier in the day.

He reached her bed, and perched on the edge of the bed.

His hand covered hers.

Slowly her eyes fluttered open. Tony noticed the contraction monitor from the corner of his eye, the contraction had peaked and was sloping down.

"Good job," he murmured, as their hands entangled.

Ziva's lip quivered.

Tony's phone, which was plugged into the charger, by the armchair, away from anything medical.

"Please," she said, her voice raspy. "Do not say that."

He moved closer to her, pressing his forehead into hers. Her forehead was warm, and the french braid, she had done and redone multiple times during their pre-dawn car ride was coming loose.

"You're amazing," he whispered. "So amazing."

Her eyes were glassy. Tony could practically smell the salt of her tears.

Ziva pulled back, and Tony moved slightly so they could look at each other.

"Do you want me to help you up?" he asked. "Go for another walk?"

He rubbed her forearm.

His role in all of this was support crew. Ziva was the star of the show. Her wishes were his commands.

"No," Ziva said, "I am tired."

His back spasmed, as he shifted slightly on the bed. A walk would do them both good.

His stomach rumbled.

It had been a long day.

"I know," he said.

Neither of them had slept much the previous night. Tony's mind had been racing, a combination of nerves and excitement. For Ziva it had been the aches and pains of late pregnancy, and the uncomfortable bout of contractions, which had started as Ziva had started to doze off. The contractions had been almost regular, and had not softened when Ziva moved. Then as the day ticked over into the next, the contractions had stalled. Just like every other time.

Ziva's body was stubborn.

Tony's phone buzzed again from the other side of the room.

"The nurse did suggest resting," Ziva whispered.

From the moment they had arrived at the hospital, Ziva had stayed active. They had paced up and down the hall, trundling the pitocin drip behind them. Ziva had refused to sit, but as the contractions had gotten more intense, Ziva had paused when the waves came. Tony would stand as she pressed her hands into his shoulders.

Then as the pitocin did its job, Ziva had gotten nauseous. They had made it back to the hospital room in time for Ziva to make it to the bathroom. Tony's heart had heaved as he heard Ziva retching, a familiar sound of this pregnancy.

From then on they had stayed in the room, still avoiding the bed. Ziva had spent a long time sitting on the birth ball a nurse had brought in. Tony had watched as the contractions became more intense, and Ziva slipped deeper into herself.

Then a nurse, had stopped by to check how Ziva was doing. Tony had helped Ziva on to the bed, and watched as Ziva spread her legs. She had gripped his hand tighter than she ever did during a contraction, as the nurses gloved hand felt around.

 _Five_ , the cheery nurse had announced as she pulled off her gloves. The nurse had been impossibly young, and too happy. _Halfway there._

Ziva had been at three centimeters before the induction even begun, with the bouts of contractions that had plagued her during that last weeks of pregnancy, having proved useful.

They had been in the hospital for the whole day, and all Ziva had to show for it was two centimeters.

If things kept going at the same speed, the baby would not be earthside until Friday.

Of course, Ziva's doctor would not let the labour go on for days. If things kept going so slow, Ziva's doctor would introduce the cascade of interventions, Ziva so feared.

Increase dosage. Epidural. C-section.

Ziva did not want a c-section.

Ziva had asked the nurse for another hour, before increasing the dosage of pitocin. It turned out her doctor was doing a c-section, so they would be granted that hour, because Ziva's doctor wanted to check on her.

Ziva had not moved from the bed since then.

She was defeated.

She had been so sure that things had progressed more.

Tony rubbed her hand.

Ziva's eyes closed, and her mouth dropped open. Tony watched the baby's heart rate on the monitor and the contraction line start to climb.

He sat quietly. Watching. Feeling useless.

The contraction peaked on the monitor. The line started to soften, and slid down.

A time flashed on the screen.

This contraction had longer than the previous one.

He turned back to her.

Her eyes slowly opened. She took a breath in, then out.

"Good job," he said again.

He had always known she was far stronger than him. She had endured so much in her life, which was over a decade shorter than his. And, these last hours, as she endured each wave of pain, had only proven her strength.

Her phone, which had not been plugged in, buzzed.

His stomach grumbled.

Ziva opened her mouth, and closed it. She rubbed her head.

"Do you want some water?" he asked.

She nodded.

He moved to the table next to Ziva's bed, and picked up the plastic water glass, and held it to her lips. Ziva took a few careful sips, and took the cup greedily from him.

"Is it your father?" she muttered, licking her lips, and waving her hand toward her phone.

He blinked a few times, and tried to stifle a yawn.

His stomach rumbled again.

He picked up her phone from its spot.

"This thing must be out of juice by now," he said softly.

He entered Ziva's passcode easily, which was the number of the first apartment Ziva lived in. For years they have known each others passcode, even before they got together, because Gibbs was never going to let cell phone security get in the way of a case.

Ziva's battery was about to run out.

The text was indeed from Senior.

Senior was the only person allowed to text them. The whole team knew about the induction, and had sent well wishes on the app they all used to communicate. Tony had kindly asked that the excited extended family leave them alone, while they were in the hospital, they did not need well meaning and loving messages asking if Baby Girl DiNozzo was earthside yet.

Breena and Jimmy, the experienced parents, had suggested that Tony and Ziva appoint someone as point of contact. Tony could still remember the little rhyme Jimmy had sent out when Breena went into labour, asking some privacy and promising to announce when the baby arrived. Someone who could share the news when the baby arrived, and someone who the others could ask if there was news. Senior had been chosen as that person.

Tony opened the text.

 _Thought Jnrs phone was dead. Foods here._

Tony frowned at the text. His stomach grumbled again.

He slowly remembered the last few hours. Ziva had been so sure that the baby was coming soon, and had suggested that Tony get something to eat. All he had managed to scoff down was two tasteless protein bars, and four cups of acidic coffee.

He had been loath to leave Ziva alone in the room, while he foraged for food, especially of the hospital cafeteria variety. Ziva in between contractions had suggested he call his Dad.

Senior was more than happy to play Uber eats.

The food would have to be eaten outside of the room, as Ziva was very sensitive to smell.

"My Dad's here," Tony declared.

Ziva nodded.

"Go," she said, as she adjusted her position slightly.

He stood still. Loathe to leave Ziva alone.

It was in these moments, he wished there was someone who could sub for him. Her mother or his. Someone to hold Ziva's hand, while he ate.

"I can wait," he said.

Ziva shook her head.

"I will not have the baby without you," she said softly, touching her huge belly. "I promise."

Tony took her hand into his.

 _You are not alone_ , he had said a thousand times over the course of their relationship.

He had said it when in the first weeks of their new relationship, she wanted to go to Israel. He had followed her around the desert country, as she unearthed her past, hoping to build a future.

He had said it, when they were in another hospital room. The unexpected pregnancy had ended with a dash of scarlet blood, and tears.

He had said it, as they stood under the chuppah, surrounded by their friends. Then they had exchanged matching rings, and promised each other forever.

"I know," he said softly.

Her eyes closed. Her mouth opened. He studied the monitor the line propelled upward.

Ziva's phone vibrated again, and went dark.

Tony looked back to Ziva. Watching as she let out a huge breath.

Then her eyes opened.

He rubbed her wrist.

"You're amazing," he said softly. "Absolutely amazing."

She gave him a half smile.

"Go eat," she said.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked.

He remembered their conversation the night before. How long ago, it already felt. Hospital time was a different timezone. Ziva's fear that everything could go wrong, and his promise not to leave her side.

"Yes," Ziva said. She looked at the contraction monitor. "I think some time to myself, would be good, yes?"

She was mustering her strength. Ready for the next fight.

The nurse would be coming back in half an hour, an hour after the last check, for another check, and to discuss options about speeding things up.

And, to offer that epidural again.

He looked at her. Still feeling uncomfortable about leaving her alone.

His phone buzzed from the other end of the room.

"Go," Ziva said.

He moved across the room grabbing his phone, and slipping Ziva's phone onto the charger.

"Do you want me to help you move?' he asked.

The Daddy-to-be books he had listened to on his commute, had said that moving positions helped speed labour up.

Many of the positions that were supposed to be beneficial required an active role from the support person.

How Tony wished there was someone else to help.

Maybe, they should not have been so dismissive to the idea of a doula.

Ziva shook her head.

"I will rest," Ziva said softly.

He stood in the space between the bed, and the door.

He looked at his Dad's text.

 _Are things happening?_

"I'll eat real quick," he promised.

Ziva brushed a loose curl from her face.

"Not too quick," she said. "Heartburn is not fun."

Heartburn had been another of the joys of pregnancy for Ziva. They had more than enough rolls of antacids stashed in the house, and both of their cars.

"If you need me," he said, as he took a couple of steps closer to the door. "You call me, or get the nurses to buzz me like they do in the movies."

Ziva smirked. He smiled too.

"I love you," he whispered. "So much."

In the last few hours, he had felt his love grow for her. She was so strong. So amazing. Much braver than he could ever be.

"I love you too," she replied.

He stepped out of the room, and put his phone to his ear.

"Hi Dad," he said.

Senior was sitting in the waiting area of the maternity ward, behind a glass door, with a big paper bag on his lap. Senior was all casual cool, with a sweater and a pair of khakis. Anthony DiNozzo Senior did not wear jeans.

Tony waved at his father through the glass, and the old man got up from his seat, walking past the other groups of relatives.

The maternity ward, because of its proximity to the beltway, and an almost baby kidnapping a few years ago, meant there were more security precautions than the police departments Tony had worked for early in his career.

Tony and Ziva both found the security measures soothing.

Tony pressed the button and walked into the waiting area.

Other relatives were sitting in their groups, holding balloons and stuffed toys.

Tony showed his hospital band to the nurse, and signed something to let Senior follow him.

Senior wrapped his arms around Tony, while they waited for the good-to-go. The coffee cup Senior had brought, teetered on the edge of the reception desk.

The DiNozzo men were not huggers by definition, but this was a special occasion.

Everything was about to change.

The hug was broken, when the lady at the desk handed Senior a card declaring him a verified visitor.

"Thanks for this," Tony declared as he took the bag from Senior.

Tony could smell the toasted bagel in the paper bag. Even though he knew was probably cold and chewy, he felt his mouth water.

"No problem," Senior said, as Tony led them into the small sitting room, which was set aside for parents, and approved visitors.

The room looked exactly like hospital waiting rooms in the movies looked like. Two vending machines selling food and drink, that would not be doctor approved, and three small round tables with ugly plastic chairs. A couch which had seen better days was pushed to the back of the wall.

The room was empty.

"I got you some real coffee," Senior declared as they sat down at the table closest to the door.

When Tony had walked from Ziva's room to the waiting room, he worked out just how quickly he could get back to Ziva's room, if she needed him.

"Thanks, Dad," Tony said, as he took a sip of lukewarm coffee.

Tony ripped at the bag, and opened the bagel which was in another smaller bag. Tony took a massive bite from the bagel, letting the sauce drip on his t-shirt.

"How's Ziva doing?" Senior asked.

Tony looked at his father, who was fiddling with his watch. It was weird to be sitting next to someone was eating, when you were not.

"She's tired," Tony said, his mouth full. "Things are taking longer than we expected."

Senior's face scrunched up, with what Tony assumed was concern.

He would spare Senior details of exactly how many centimeters Ziva was dilated. He did not think Ziva would appreciate such intimate details of her body.

"Everything's okay, right?" Senior asked.

Tony looked at his father, and nodded.

"Yeah," Tony said, as he swallowed the last of his bite. His mouth suddenly dry. "Things just aren't as quick as they are in the movies."

Senior nodded, and rubbed his hands together.

Tony took another sip of lukewarm coffee. It was sugary sweet, and went down easily.

"Okay," Senior said. "I've had to charge my phone twice today already."

Senior plucked out his phone from his pocket. It was attached to the portable charger that McGee had gotten Senior, in their secret santa the previous Christmas.

Senior opened the phone, and showed dozens of messages from all of their friends, asking whether there was any news.

Tony's daughter would know so much love. From the moment she arrived.

"Thanks for playing press secretary," Tony said softly, as he read some of the messages. "Wish I had more news for you."

Senior nodded, and took the phone back.

"Good things take time," Senior uttered wisely. "How are you doing, Junior?"

Tony took another bite of the bagel. The cheese was sticky, and the bagel was chewy. Tony suspected the bagel had once been toasted. It would have been amazing if it were still warm.

"I'm okay," Tony said with a shrug.

Until a few seconds ago he was starving, and the exhaustion run through to his bones.

He was fine.

Ziva was the one in pain. Ziva was the one who was suffering.

Tony took another sip of the coffee.

"I don't know if I'm doing enough," Tony declared, as he finished the coffee. "When the contractions come Ziva gets really quiet. It's like she goes into this place deep inside of her. I feel kinda useless"

He looked out the tiny window in the room. The sky was grey.

During one of the quiet moments between contractions, he had asked Ziva if she needed anything more from him. She had assured him that just being there was helping her.

He was not convinced.

"Was it like that with Mom?" Tony asked, as turned back to his father.

Senior stiffened in his seat.

"When you were born," Senior declared. "It wasn't normal for Dads to be in the room, not in our circle anyway."

He took the final bite of the bagel. The piece of bacon was extra crispy, and a little burnt.

"I've been thinking about what you asked me about at dinner on Friday," Senior declared, as he grabbed the coffee cup and paper bags, and smashed them together.

Tony thought back to the previous Friday. Their last Friday dinner before the baby came. Senior had arrived early, and cooked under Ziva's instructions, as standing up for too long aggravated Ziva's sciatica. The baby and childbirth had been the main topic of conversation.

Tony had asked Senior about his own birth.

Senior had taken a long sip of wine, and sat quietly, and only said that Tony had been overdue.

"Yeah," Tony said, as he picked up the rubbish and threw it into the bin across the room. He still had it. "Sorry about that. It's just Ziva has this whole legend about being born. Apparently she came really quickly, as soon as her Dad walked through the door. It all happened in this farmhouse in the middle of nowhere."

Senior raised his eyebrow.

"She's not even sure how much of the story was true," Tony added. The coffee had done its job. "It's not like she can ask anyone."

Tony looked out to the window. It was drizzling.

There were so many people missing.

What would he do when his daughter asked why she didn't have a grandmother.

"I was thinking about what it was like when we were expecting you," Senior said, bringing Tony back into the conversation.

Tony's heart heaved as he heard the 'we'. For so often Tony had thought of his parents as separate entities.

His dead mother.

His fomerly deadbeat dad.

"What was it like?" Tony asked, as he pulled out his own phone from his pocket.

He calculated how long it had been since he had left Ziva in the room.

One maybe two contractions.

His hands tingled.

He needed to get back to her.

"We'd been married for a few years before you joined us," Senior declared, a soft smile on his face. "We weren't sure if it was ever going to happen."

Tony was struck by the few images he had of his mother. The long blonde hair. Her soft voice. Her perfume.

"We weren't trying," Senior uttered softly. "Not like you and Ziva were, but we just expected it to happen. If your Nonna was still alive, there probably would have been some pressure."

Tony knew little of the wider DiNozzo family history. He knew his father's parents, both second generation immigrants, had weathered their fair share of storms. Losing their business during the depression had left them with scars, which led to early deaths once their baby birds had flown the nest.

"You were due on July 1st," Senior declared, as he looked out of the window. "I wanted you to be born on the 4th, because every year there would be fireworks on your birthday."

Tony smiled. He had been late. Very late.

"Catherine," Senior said, his voice cracking. It was so rare that his mother was referred to by her first name. "Was really excited that you were coming. She had been in the US for years before we got married, but she was always so restless. I think you really cemented things for her."

His mother had been sent to the US for boarding school, while her parents went through a minor scandal. She had returned to England after the storm had blown over, but found she no longer fit in. She had come back to the US, leaving behind the stiffness of the British upper class, and stayed for the rest of her life.

A far too short life.

"Your mom was really over it toward the end," Senior said with a proud smile. "The day you decided to make your appearance, I had a meeting in the city. I made Catherine promise not to go into labour. Of course that promise wasn't kept. It was the days before cell phones. The housekeeper got your mother to the hospital, and then called the restaurant I was expected to be at. Of course she did not get me, so she called everyone else in the phone book."

Tony smiled.

"Every member of your Aunt Caprice's family knew you were on your way," Senior declared.

Aunt Caprice had been his Uncle Vince's wife. She had been Italian-American in the stereotypical way. Her family had been loud and busy. Vince and Caprice had lived in New Jersey about the butcher shop, that Vince had used his portion on parents life insurance to invest in. Caprice and Vince had been the stable ones in a young Tony's life.

When he was in boarding school, he had imagined a life, where Vince and Caprice had taken him in while his father sorted out his life.

"Eventually, I got to my lunch meeting," Senior declared. "And, there was a message for me to call the hospital. I was a mess during that meeting, as soon as the meeting was over I ran out of there."

Tony felt a dash of anger that his Dad had stayed for the meeting, but remembered that it had been a different time. If Senior had cancelled the meeting to go by his wife's side, he would have been ridiculed.

"I got there in the afternoon all stressed out," Senior continued. "You were here, but something was wrong with your Mom. I can't remember what is was, but they had to do surgery. I had to sign something."

Tony looked at his father. Had his only child status been medically necessitated, or a choice.

"She was fine," Senior said. His voice cracking. "While, they were doing the surgery, they took me to see you. I stood behind this big window looking into the nursery, and saw you. You were perfect. My heart burst."

Senior wiped a tear from his eye.

"I know I didn't always show it," Senior said softly. "But I loved you, I do love you. I guess that overwhelmed me."

Tony looked at his Dad. A smile on his face.

Would he get that wave of love, when his daughter was placed in his arms.

Would it overwhelm him too?

He felt the same tingling in his hands.

Tony checked the time on his phone. Ziva had probably had at least two more contractions. His stomach ached at the thought of suffering through them alone. Even if she had assured him that she was fine. Her body was ready for the surges as she called them.

He needed to get back to her.

Tony stood up from the table, and looked to the door.

"I've got to get back," Tony said, as he started to move towards the door. "I'll text you when Talia is here, and you can share the news."

Senior got up, and followed his son.

"Talia?" Senior asked.

"Yeah," Tony said as he moved toward the threshold of the door. Then stopped. "We're probably going to name the baby Talia. Talia Catherine."

Senior's mouth opened but he did not make a noise. Then a smile dawned over his face.

Senior smiled and wrapped his arms around his son. Clapping his hands on Tony's back.

"What a perfect name," Senior declared, as he broke the hug. "Now go. Give my love to Ziva."

Tony rushed out of the lounge and practically ran toward Ziva's room.

She was still in the bed. Her eyes were closed. Her hands gripping the bed sheets. He heard a slight groan.

"You're amazing," he whispered, as he moved to her side.

Her eyes opened, and she looked at him. Then came a few careful blinks. She was coming back up for air.

"I'm not leaving you again," he promised. "Not until she is here."

She gripped his hand. Tight.

"I just want this to be over," she said softly.

He nodded, and pressed his forehead into hers.

"It will be," he promised. "And, then Talia will be here, and none of this will matter."

Ziva looked at him. Her eyes glassy.

"Talia," she echoed, her eyes gazing down to the globe on her lap. "Our daughter."

He nodded.

Talia, their daughter.

In a matter of hours, their daughter would be here.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

I'm dragging this out, aren't I?

In the next chapter the baby will actually arrive. It will be up next week.

I've never had a baby, but I hope the description of childbirth I've used here is somewhat accurate.

Thanks so much for waiting, and the lovely reviews.

Also, on a personal note. I've crossed 100k words, which is a personal milestone for me. I know it's 'just' fanfic, but my perfectionist tendencies come out with a vengeance when I write. I know this fic is dragging on, but I'm hoping that it all pays off.

So thank you so much for all the support.


	26. And, With That Everything Changes

**A/N** : Warning, this one might get a tad graphic in terms of childbirth. Blame it on too much Call the Midwife.

Ziva took a deep breath, as the surge came. She leaned into Tony, who stood in front of her. Movement was supposed to help bring the baby down. To move things along.

Tony's hands reached up and rubbed her shoulders.

 _With the waves_ , that was what the audio hypnosis had instructed. She had played those CD's since she first felt those early movements. When each kick was met with excitement for what was to come.

 _Each pain is getting you closer to your baby._

 _With the waves. Lean into the pain. Do not fight it._

The CD's had been recommended by the hippy homebirth neighbour who lived across the street, but Ziva had found the affirmations were similar to the pain management techniques she had learnt decades ago, as part of the one to one Mossad training her father gave her.

 _Pain is weakness. You are not weak._

The pain ended, with the line on the contraction monitor sliding down. Ziva tugged at the band around the swell of her belly. She hated the monitor, and how it restricted her movement, but Ziva's doctor insisted.

 _We need to keep an eye on the baby._

Ziva shifted her weight from one foot to another.

The ache of the contraction remained.

Her back. Her shoulders. Her bottom.

"Good job," Tony murmured, registering that the contraction had ended.

Ziva sucked in a deep breath. To steady herself. To regain her strength.

In and out. Inhale and exhale.

"You're amazing," Tony said, breaking Ziva's quiet concentration.

They are in the calm before the storm of the next pain will build up, starting in her back, before it wrapped itself around her body, rising up. It threatened to pull her under. To drown her.

The minutes between the contractions ticked on. Nausea rose from Ziva's stomach, and up her chest.

She licked her lips, and swallowed thickly, trying to banish the nausea.

When will this be over.

"Is this position okay?" Tony asked.

The pain came again. A surge. Rising up through her.

 _With the waves._

The waves had been manageable at first. The pain broke as the whitewash hit the beach.

Now, it was like she was caught in a rip tide. The pain was pulling her under. She was so close to drowning.

Then the pain started to ease.

Tony rubbed her shoulders again.

She blinked a few times, and took a few easy breaths. Coming up for air.

"You're doing so well," Tony whispered softly. Tiredness laces his words.

Ziva felt bile rising up her throat again.

She started retching. Tony grabbed the kidney dish, and placed it under her.

There was damp spot on his t-shirt, from when he had been too slow with the dish. He had taken it all in stride, claiming it was just practice for when Talia was earthside.

How her heart melted when Tony used their daughters name.

The vomit came up. It was mostly spit, and bile.

When was the last time she ate?

"Done?" Tony asked.

Ziva nodded. The smell was too much.

She moved slightly, looking at the window. It was dark out. The pitch black of where the night would bleed into the next day. Once upon a time, Ziva was routinely awake at this time, either solving cases or dealing with the scars those cases left on her soul.

"Looks like she'll be a March baby," Tony murmured. His exhaustion had caused motormouth, something Ziva was used to from those long stakeouts. "She'll still be a Pisces though, a water sign. Kinda fits with her birthstone. Aquamarine."

Ziva wondered where and why Tony had looked into birthstones and zodiac signs, but her head is so heavy, that she cannot process his words.

Ziva turned to look at the clock. She focused on the time, but did not register it.

Then a pain came again. It tugged at her, pulling her under. She closed her eyes, and leaned into him. She needed his strength.

A noise slipped out of her, before she had a chance to stop it. It was animalistic. Something like a cow. She remembered her Uncle's farm and the noises.

Tony's heart quickened, she could feel it in his chest. She had been mostly silent, as the pains came in its waves. But, it was too much, she could not remain quiet.

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

Pain is weakness.

Tony rubbed some sweat off her forehead, with a cloth.

"She'll be here soon," Tony whispered. "Talia."

Talia. A baby to be named for her sister. The songbird whose voice was silenced.

She did not reply, as another pain came. It came so quickly, before the other one had easy off. She gripped his shoulders, digging her fingernails into him. He let out a breath. Ziva felt her body sway. The pain was too much. Her vision blurred.

It is too much.

Then as quickly as it came, the pain slipped away. She took her hands off of Tony's shoulders.

"You are so amazing," he declared, as he reached up and rubbed her shoulders. "I love you."

Her brown eyes met his green eyes.

"Aquamarine," he continued. Ziva took a second to grab the thread of conversation. The baby's birth stone. Where had he learnt all of this information. "It's supposed to be a calming stone, maybe we'll have a calm baby."

Ziva doubted that a product of their chaos would be calm.

She rested her head on his chest. Listening to his heartbeat, and how his chest moved with his words. She knew what he was trying to do, with all this talking, he is trying to make it better.

He was always trying to make it better for her.

It is just them in the quiet hospital room. The lights are dimmed down, the darkness is supposed to help progress the contractions.

So was the movement. Ziva's feet ache with all the walking. They had padded up and down the long corridors. Trying to encourage Ziva's body to get into gear.

It has been a long road.

One person will become two.

She will leave this place, with a baby. Her baby. Something she and Tony made together.

She will leave this place a mother.

Yet there were times that she felt she was forgetting her mother.

So many times during this pregnancy, as her body changed, and the little soul under Ziva's ribs made her presence known, Ziva had wished for her mother.

For someone to guide her through this momentous change. Someone who had been there.

When, she had sent Tony and his rumbling stomach to eat, she had felt her mother's absence. How she wanted a mother, or even a mother-in-law to sit with her, and offer all-knowing support.

Instead she had been alone. Just her and the baby.

A nurse had slipped in, and offered her an epidural, and been surprised when Ziva said no.

Pain is weakness.

A contraction swooped in, and stopped her thoughts.

"It won't be long, now," Tony whispered, as Ziva came up for air, over a minute later. The contraction slipped away.

How can he know that?

It had been fifteen hours since the nurse poked the needle into her vein, with the hope that it would encourage the baby into the world. It had been fifteen hours, since the nurse had waved a consent form in Ziva's face, as she explained all the possible side effects. They would watch the baby's heart rate, as the pitocin could affect it. Ziva's belly would have a band wrapped around it. It had been eighteen hours, since Ziva stepped on the endless treadmill that was this labour.

"Soon," he continued.

Another pain came quickly. The waves were long and frequent. High tide.

Then a groan came from deep inside her.

She wanted this to be over.

She wanted her mother.

How did her mother do this? In the old farmhouse, with its temperamental electricity connection. With her bereft Aunt Nettie, as makeshift midwife, and her useless father by her side.

The rain falling outside, flooding the dust road, preventing them from leaving the farmhouse.

What if something had gone wrong?

Not that it mattered. Ziva was coming to quickly.

 _You were in such a rush, motek._

This baby was taking too long.

 _You took so long, motek, I thought you would never come._

Will that the story she will tell her daughter?

She wanted her daughter.

Ziva leaned forward. Hunching over. Wanting to curl into herself. Tony bent in front of her. His hands under her armpits, pulling her back up.

"Its okay," Tony said, his voice cracking. "I've got you."

She stood up, letting him support her. She wanted this to be over.

She needed the baby here now.

Tony took her hands and rubbed her wrists.

"You're safe," Tony said, his voice soft. "I promise."

She looked up at him. His eyes are ringed with black circles. She could tell he is exhausted too.

She rested her head on his chest. Her ear to his heart. His arms wrapped around her. Rubbing her back.

She wanted to go home. Away from all of this.

It smelt like a hospital. Disinfectant and soft plastic. She smelt like a hospital too. It had seeped into her pores.

She wanted to do this at home. A plastic tub, in her bedroom. Or in their bed, the same bed the baby was conceived in. There was a romanticism in that.

Home was safe. At home she was in control.

Right in this moment, she felt so out of control.

A pain came. She moved out of Tony's arms, needing space. He started murmuring encouraging words, but Ziva did not hear him.

This pain was different, than those that came before. There was pressure, right where the baby's head was supposed to be.

So much pressure.

A low long groan escaped her. She blinked a few times, almost not registering that the noise came from her.

He cupped her face, and murmured more soft encouraging words.

Concern was etched in his face.

The pressure was still there. Getting stronger.

Something had changed.

Since, the pregnancy had become more obvious, women had shared their birth stories with her. Breena and the failed epidural, with Jimmy a bundle of nerves, who could have done with a sedative. Leyla in hiding in Iraq, the primitive midwife, and the pain that split her in two. Her next door neighbour Roshini, cut open in a rush, because the scratching that had started is a serious complication. Her hippy home birth neighbour Aimee and her home births.

The pressure grew.

Another contraction came. She tugged on Tony's arm. With both arms he held her tight.

The wave pulled her under. She was drowning.

She needed him to help her tread water.

She lurched forward. Her breath bounced from his chest.

The pressure got stronger. She remembered what she had been told about this pressure. The pressure meant she might be ready to push.

The baby was coming.

Finally.

"Get the nurse," she managed to cough. The pain eased off, just as she thought she could not take anymore. She opened her eyes, and looked to Tony. His eyebrows were at his hairline. "I want to push."

Twenty long minutes later, she sat on the bed. The crinkly paper sheet under her bottom. Her legs were splayed open, after a tense negotiation about stirrups. Ziva and her doctor had talked about stirrups, with Ziva's doctor promising that unless there was a medical need, the stirrups would not used.

Stirrups brought back memories of a dusty cell. Saleem had never used stirrups, but he had used restraints. For Ziva, stirrups brought the past into the present. A place she did not want to bring into this room. A place she did not want her daughter to ever know.

She moved slightly on the bed. She wanted off of this bed. The bed made her feel trapped.

Tony's hand squeezed her shoulder. He had stood behind her for the whole exam.

The nurses latex glove made a smacking noise, as she pulled them off. The nurse balled the gloves and threw them in the bin. This nurse, was different than the last one Ziva had seen.

There seemed to have been a shift changeover.

Had Ziva's doctor gone home too?

Ziva had been wrong.

Her body was not yet ripe. She had jumped the gun.

 _You're at eight_ , the nurse had announced.

Ziva can count to ten in as many languages, but never had the space between each number carried such a weight.

A contraction built in her. Ziva watched as the line started to rise on the monitor. She closed her eyes, and bit into her lip.

She did not know how much more of this she could take.

Pain raged inside of her. This position made it hurt so much more. She needed to get up.

"Remember, horsey noises," the nurse nagged from the other side of the room. The lights were on, it was so bright. "You can't push yet."

Tony and the nurse make noises, which were poor imitations of a horse neigh. The nurse crossed the room, coming closer to Ziva. To monitor her.

She did not make a horse noise. She let out a long animalistic groan instead. Her hands dug into the bed. She balled the sheets in her fist. Tony rubbed her shoulders.

The pressure. There was so much pressure.

Her husband and this nurse did not understand.

She needed to have this baby. Now.

The noises stop. The contraction eased off.

Their noises continued, even as the contraction ended. Ziva came up for air, and her mind drifted to her Uncle's farm. To the horses. He had trained Arabians. Her father had denied her a pony.

Would her daughter like horses?

"Good job, Mama," the nurse said. It was condescending, and grated on Ziva.

The nurse is young. Perhaps a new grad. Ziva wondered if this baby faced woman, has had a child. A book and four years of school could never explain this.

The nurse slipped out of the room, leaving the lights on. The nurses too-white sneakers squeaking on the floor.

Ziva had been instructed to stay on the bed. Exactly where she did not want to be.

Her and her doctor had talked about the birth Ziva wanted. She wanted to move freely, because there had been a time where she had not been given that freedom.

The nurses did not understand.

She was exhausted. Even if she was allowed to move, she probably would not.

"Not long to go," Tony said softly. "You heard the nurse."

His hand rubbed her back.

The pressure built.

The pain was unbearable.

She could not keep doing this.

Make it stop.

The pain pulled her under.

It hurt so much more.

"I need to move," she declared taking in a deep breath. The contraction slipped away, and she tugged at the band wrapped around her belly.

Tony looked to the monitor. The babies heart rate flashed in front of them. It had remained steady. At least something was going right.

"Here," he said, offering his hands too her.

She shook her head, and lunged forward. Her back ached. She needed to take the pressure off.

It took two unbearable contractions, before Ziva managed to find a position that made things less uncomfortable.

She was on her hands and her knees.

Tony made horse noises at her, while she stood like an animal.

"I need to push," Ziva said over an hour later.

She had moved position again. Kneeling instead of on all fours. When the waves of pain came, she would reach for Tony and press herself into him. Her hands on his shoulders. Holding tight.

If she let go, these pains might just pull her under.

Tony looked at her. Eyes squinting. He did not believe her.

"You sure?" he asked.

He did not understand, she decided. It was not his body.

He and the nurse with her too-white sneakers, did not understand.

"I need to push," she said again, straining.

Before the pressure was mild. Now, it was intense. She did not think she could do anything but push.

Her body does it for her. She moved back onto the bed, into a sitting position. Her legs opened.

Tony pushed a pillow behind her.

She dug her fists into the sheets.

She gritted her teeth.

It was almost a relief to push.

Tony pressed the buzzer. Once then twice. He had caught her urgency.

A nurse came rushing in. This one was older, with grey hairs slithering through her bun.

"Looks like someone is ready to join us," the nurse said, a slight southern accent lilting her words.

"Finally," Ziva declared between gritted teeth.

The nurse looked at Ziva's chart, and looked to Ziva.

"Are you ready, Ziva?" the nurse said. Ziva squinted to try to read the nurses name tag, but it was too far away. She was too tired.

Finally somebody was using her name. Not just calling her Mama.

Was she ready?

"Yes," Ziva said. Her voice firm.

Another contraction came. These ones were different than the ones from before. Ziva felt a burst of energy right until the contraction slipped away. As soon as the contraction was gone, the exhaustion would come back.

"Good job, Ziva," the nurse said, as the doctor slipped into the room. Another nurse, the young one from before, followed, pushing a plastic isolette. A figure in a white coat followed behind.

It was all happening.

"Looks like this little one wanted to see the sunrise," the doctor declared. It was Ziva's doctor. Ziva recognized the older woman's cat-eye glasses, and dirty blonde hair.

Ziva blinked a few times. She was confused. It had been so many hours since she had been admitted. She was so sure her doctor had gone home.

"We've been waiting for this, haven't guys?" Ziva's doctor said addressing both Tony and Ziva, as she settled herself at the business end of the hospital bed. "Are you ready, Ziva?"

The nurse muttered something to the doctor.

The bed was moved, so it became like a seat, just like Ziva and her doctor had talked about. Ziva had let go of most of her birth plan by now, but she did not want to be pinned to the bed.

There was no sign of stirrups. Just like Ziva had been promised. The older nurse helped Ziva adjust her feet on the foot rest.

Another pain rose through Ziva. The urge to push. She gripped Tony's hand. Tight.

"Okay," the doctor said, from the end of the bed. "Let's get this party started."

And she pushed. With all her might.

The younger nurse counted. Ziva hated the counting.

Ziva came up for air. Her doctor looked up at her with a proud smile.

Ziva and her doctor had been through so much together. Ziva had transferred to this doctor, after she became an NCIS agent, finding for the first time in her life that she could not have a male doctor.

This doctor had listened to her concerns, and always booked a double appointment when it came for Ziva's yearly appointment. The doctor, an older woman who had a wealth of qualifications, had been knowledgeable when Ziva talked about trying for this baby.

Her doctor was almost as excited about this baby, as Tony and Ziva.

"You're doing well," Tony whispered from his position behind her.

The pain came back.

She clamped Tony's hand.

She pushed again.

Her breath was warm, as she blew it out of her mouth. Her ears ached.

"Your nearly there, Ziva," her doctor said softly.

The urge came again. Quickly.

She wanted this baby. She wanted her now.

"There's the head," the older nurse declared. Her voice excited, bringing out her Southern accent. "Ziva, do you want to touch?"

Ziva was confused for a second.

"Do you wanna look Dad?" the nurse asked.

Tony stood silently.

They had talked about this. Tony wanted to stay at the top end.

Ziva's hand reached down between her legs, and was greeted by a bulge.

It is wet. Slippery. She clasped a soft wet baby curl between her fingers.

There was the baby.

Her baby.

"Hair," Ziva said softly.

The older nurse chuckled.

"Yeah," the nurse said. "Your baby's got a lot of hair."

Tony coughed.

"Just like her Ima," Tony muttered, as he gave her shoulders a squeeze.

"Wanna see?" the doctor asked.

Ziva's mouth dropped open. She nodded.

She wanted her baby.

The nurse handed the doctor a mirror.

A few seconds later, they see what the doctor can. A mop of dark curls. A squirt of scarlet red blood. White globs through the curls. It was just like the pictures she had seen, when she looked up childbirth, wanting to know what to expect.

Ziva did not quite register that it is her body.

This was happening to somebody else.

"That is," Tony paused, swallowing thickly. "Amazing."

Tony moved slightly. Ziva looked up at him. His face was bright. The exhaustion of the long day forgotten. She smiled at him, a huge smile that banished the exhaustion of the last twenty-three hours.

The mirror is taken away.

Then is a slight urge. A groan slipped from Ziva.

She pushed.

The sun started to stream into the room, from the huge window.

"Easy," the doctor said, her hand on Ziva's foot. "We're going to take the next few pushes slowly."

Ziva groaned.

They did not understand, she needed this baby out. Now.

There was no we in this.

The baby moved slightly. It slipped in and out.

"You're amazing," Tony said softly.

Ziva pushed. Straining, as she did.

She had enough of this.

She wanted the baby out. Now.

"Easy," the younger nurse warned. "You'll tear."

The next urge was stronger. She pushed hard. Harder.

She wanted this baby. Now.

Then came a burning sensation. Like when she pulled her mouth to her ears.

The pain traveled up her. Her ears pop with the pain. Her eyes watered.

"Good job," the doctor said, as the pain softened, and slipped away. "With the next one the head should be out."

She looked up at Tony. He matched her smile.

"I'm so proud of you," he declared.

The next urge came quickly. There was pain. So much pain. Then the head was born.

Then everything is numb.

"You ready, Mama?" the younger nurse asked.

Her body ached. She was exhausted.

Then baby slipped out.

Ziva suddenly felt empty.

"It's a girl," the younger nurse declare unnecessarily.

Just like that, it was all over.

Then she heard it. The soft mewing cry of a tiny baby.

Her baby.

Ziva lunged forward, to try to get a look at the baby.

The baby red, and squawking.

For a second Ziva wondered whose baby that was. Then she remembered it was her baby.

She was here.

Her baby was here.

Ziva is a mother.

"Look what you did," Ziva's doctor declared with a huge smile. There was pride in her eyes. "Well done."

Ziva's arms reached out. She needed her baby.

The nurse placed the baby in Ziva's waiting arms. A blanket is placed over Ziva's lap. Ziva pressed the baby to her chest. The baby squirmed like a fish, before settling.

She was born under a water sign.

Tony let out a sob. He gripped the side of the bed. Ziva looked to him, and noticed his eyes were glassy.

"She's beautiful," Tony said, as he perched on the bed. Tears falling freely. "Look what we made."

Ziva stayed focused on the tiny creature. Adjusting the baby on her chest.

Tony touched the baby's tiny fist. Her tiny hand opened, and she gripped Tony's finger.

"Hello Talia," he whispered, his words punctuated with sobs. "We waited so long for you."

Ziva looked at him. Then back to her daughter. Ziva studied her daughters dark brown eyes, and dark curls.

Then it dawned on her.

"She looks like me," Ziva whispered.

It has been such a long time since she has seen someone who looked like her.

The baby blinks her dark eyes.

Tony leaned closer to them, and untangled his finger from the babies tight grip. Her used his freed finger to run his hand over the baby's tiny cheek.

"She does," Tony said. "Just as beautiful as her Ima."

There is chatter from the nurses, and the doctor, breaking the spell.

"Let's do some checks," the younger nurse said. Her hands out for the baby. "I promise we'll have Little Miss back to you soon."

Ziva held her baby closer to her chest. Not ready to let go yet. Tony looked at the nurse, then at his wife.

Tony held out his arms, encouraging Ziva to give the baby to him. A nurse place a baby blanket in Tony's arms, and Ziva relinquished the baby to him.

He walked the baby to the nurse.

Another nurse pulled at Ziva's knees. Ziva's doctor murmured something to the other nurse.

"Do we have a name?" The nurse holding the baby asked.

"Talia Catherine?" Tony said, as he looked back to her. For confirmation.

Ziva nodded. Her chest ached. She needed her baby back.

"Talia Catherine," Tony repeated.

The doctors and nurses did not understand the meaning of those names and how they fitted together.

She and Talia have been one for so long, and now they are two. It hurts.

"Looks like we've got a little tear," Ziva's doctor declared. "And some bleeding."

Ziva heard her doctor, but did not register the words. Her eyes are stuck on the baby. The baby is being carried toward the back of the room, to the isolette. Another person in scrubs had slipped into the room. The room suddenly felt very crowded.

Tony moved across the room. Following the baby.

"She has your nose," Tony said. His voice carrying across the room.

There is a pain in Ziva's belly. A tug. The nurse pushed on Ziva's now empty stomach.

Ziva remembered this from the blogs and books she has read. The afterbirth.

"Little push," the doctor prescribed.

Ziva pushed.

The baby started to wail. Screaming bloody murder. A nurse started sshing her, and the baby quieted as quickly as she had started. This was just another day in the office for the doctor and the nurses.

For Tony and Ziva everything had changed.

Ziva's chest heaved.

Tony's focus had moved back to the baby. Ziva tried to move slightly, to see the baby, but it was futile. She could not see her.

"She looks so much like you," Tony said, as he stood as close to the baby as the nurse would let him. "It's uncanny."

It has been so long since she has had someone in her life, who looked like her.

Then a dark thought crossed her mind.

Everyone who looked like her has been taken away, by the horrors of the world.

She could not let her baby be taken away.

She had to protect her daughter.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing, though could I claim Talia?

Well, look what finally happened.

Thank you so much for the love.

This chapter was initially written in present tense but slipped into the past tense, which might account for even more grammatical errors than usual.

I know the last line in the chapter could be alarming, but I don't write those kind of fics. The baby will not be harmed.

The next chapter will be up next week, it will explore the early days of parenthood.


	27. The Newborn Haze

Ziva's head pounded. A dull constant ache. One she was almost used to by now.

Post partum, or the 4th trimester as the books had called it, was a lesson in pain.

Her breasts were heavy and painful. They felt so full, and warm.

Her abdomen, when she had managed to catch a glance at it, during a too-quick shower, was a mess. It was still swollen, but smaller than it had been. The skin was loose, and it looked like cottage cheese.

Everything hurt.

It had been eight endless days since the baby had been born. Since one became two.

Ziva's heart had split in half.

Everything felt upside down.

Everything felt wrong.

They were on the couch in the living room. The early spring sun, streaming through the windows. It had rained an hour beforehand, but there was little sign of that now.

Talia was making noises in Ziva's arms, a sort of mewing sound. The seconds ticked on and the mewing started to deepen, until it became the shrill piercing cries Ziva had so feared. Ziva pressed her daughters tiny mouth to her heavy breasts.

The baby failed to latch.

The baby failed to latch. Again.

Eight days after Talia was born, and they had not managed to get the baby to latch properly.

Tony appeared from the kitchen, with the swaddle blanket over his shoulder. Ziva could smell the coffee he was brewing.

The smell made Ziva want to gag.

He at least had the sustenance of caffeine. Not the caffeine would do much for this level of sleep deprivation.

She had been sleep deprived before. She had been sleep deprived during her father's training sessions, where the hallucinations danced in the shadows. She had been so young then. Still a child.

She had been sleep deprived during missions, focused only on one thing. Vengeance. Every mission back then, had been justified, in that it was revenge for what had happened to her sister and other people like her.

She had been sleep deprived in that dusty cell, when Saleem's men played loud noise from tinny speakers, at uneven intervals. Something straight out of torture 101.

How silly Ziva had been to think all of that horribleness would have prepared her for this.

Nothing could have prepared her for this.

The newly family of three had stayed in the hospital for four days, longer than Ziva had wanted, but there had been complications. Ziva's bleeding was too much, and the second grade tear needed to be monitored.

Ziva had not been able to sleep in the hospital, even when Tony told her he would take the baby if she stirred. The hospital was too different. She could not leave her baby alone, in such a strange place.

The nurses had tried to help her. They had assured her that the baby would be fine. Still Ziva did not sleep. They had offered her chemical sleeping aids, which Ziva had refused. Ziva did not sleep. Not unless Tony was with the baby.

Once, it became apparent that Ziva would not sleep, the nurses had helped her with other things. One had helped Ziva walk the dozen or so steps to the toilet. Her body still so weak.

She had never felt so weak. Not after she took a bullet. Not after that summer she did not talk about. Not after she escaped that bomb in Morocco.

 _You've lost a lot of blood_ the nurse had said as Ziva struggled with this new weakness _._

Ziva was still putting the pieces together about what had happened, in those moments after Talia had been born.

She remembered the pain, of the doctor slipping her gloved hands inside of her. Then the light in the room had gotten too much. Then the doctor's voice had started to drift away. Everything had gotten soft and quiet. Tony had started to call her name. His voice shrill. He had been scared.

Then as quickly as it had gotten dark, it got light again. Too light.

She had come around slowly, and found a blood bag on her IV stand, with Tony sitting beside her, his face pale. The bed had been moved again, and she was lying down. Flat on her back. The baby had been left with the nurses on the other side of the room. All alone.

 _Thank god,_ he had whispered. _Thank god_.

A minor hemorrhage, Ziva's doctor had called it when she sat with Ziva, before mother and baby were discharged. Ziva had avoided surgery, but she was instructed to take things easy, and monitor her blood loss.

Even eight days days later Ziva had to be careful if she got up too quickly.

Tony was still spooked.

 _All the matters is that you have a healthy baby_ , a well-meaning nurse had said when she checked Ziva.

A healthy baby who would not feed.

Another nurse had organised for a lactation consultant to sit with them. For two heartbreaking hours, the consultant had listed off different strategies for them to use, and talked about the benefits of breast milk.

Then just as the consultant was about to call it a day. They made one last attempt. It worked. They had managed it. A perfect latch. The pain had slipped away, and the magical feeling all of the books promised, had come over Ziva.

Talia had been fed.

Ziva's had felt good.

That had been the only time Talia had managed to latch. It had been a pure fluke.

Ziva looked down at her daughter, who had unlatched herself. The wailing continued. Ziva's breasts ached. Engorgement, the lactation consultant had called it.

Ziva felt her face crumple. Mirroring her daughter.

Nobody had told her it would be like this.

"Ziva," Tony said with a sigh. "This isn't supposed to hurt."

Ziva felt the familiar well of tears in her eyes. She was just so tired. She felt pushed and pulled all over the place.

Her three day old T-shirt was wet, and she did not care.

Since she had delivered the baby, she had expelled so much liquid.

Milk. Blood. The night sweats.

"It does not hurt," Ziva lied. The lie crumpled in her mouth.

Talia continued to wail.

Her hunger was as unbearable to the baby as her parents.

How could something so small make so much noise?

"I can't keep doing this," Tony said, his voice cracking.

Ziva resented his 'I'. He had not been the one whose body grew, and changed.

He was not the one who was failing to feed their daughter.

Tony moved to the kitchen, and started making formula. Ziva recognised the smell. It smelt so chemically.

The hospital had given them a sampler of formula, as they left. Ziva had told Tony it was only to be used for an emergency. She would master breastfeeding. It was what a good mother did.

Ziva was determined to be a good mother.

Even on it killed her.

Then on the first night, after another failed attempt at getting Talia to latch. Tony had retreated to the kitchen and started to make the formula. He had presented the bottle, with its tiny dribble of white liquid to Ziva, and she had accepted it. Defeated.

Talia had sucked on the rubber teat greedily.

Ziva moved Talia onto her shoulder. The baby was screaming. The screams burnt Ziva's ears and broke Ziva's heart.

Ziva started to sway, hoping to soothe the baby. The baby would be in no state to eat.

Tony appeared back in the living room with the bottle.

"If we keep giving her formula, she will not take the breast," Ziva said, trying to keep her voice flat, and calm.

Tony shrugged.

 _He does not understand_ Ziva told herself.

It was not his body that was supposed to nourish this tiny creature.

This tiny creature Ziva was not she deserved.

She had always known she would fail as mother.

Was this be the first aspect of motherhood she failed at?

"Ziva," he said with a sigh. "She's upset, and your upset. We'll feed her, and then I'll take her. You need some rest."

Her whole body hurt. She adjusted herself on the donut pillow that she had to sit on now. Her body had torn bringing Talia into the world.

"You do not understand," she hissed.

Tony sat down on the space next to her, moving some of the baby debris which had been dumped on the couch, to the coffee table. The coffee table had been tidied the evening before the induction.

They really needed to tidy up.

He looked at her with a soft look.

"It's been a tough couple of weeks," Tony murmured. "None of us are sleeping."

Not him. Not her. Definitely, not the baby.

Ziva brought the baby down into a cradle hold. Talia seemed to have tired herself out, and the whimpers quietened.

She was still hungry. Her tiny baby mouth quivered.

Tony rolled up the sleeve of OSU hoodie he was wearing. It had a spit-up stains from at least two days ago. He squeezed a tiny bit of milk onto his forearm, to test its temperature. Just like the nurse had taught him to do in the hospital. When they had finally agreed to do supplemental formula feeding.

"Let's get you fed Little Miss," Tony said, directing his conversation to the baby. "Then you and I can hang out, and we'll let Ima sleep."

Ziva looked down at her daughter. At her dark eyes, and tiny dark curls.

The baby looked so much like Ziva. It was eerie.

"You need to sleep too," Ziva declared, looking back up at Tony.

His hair was a mess, sticking up all over the place. Like a porcuswine, she thought to herself.

He was not good when he was tired.

He needed to sleep.

Motherhood was martyrhood.

Ziva had to be a martyr.

"You first," he said softly. "You're recovering."

He had been so good, not just in the last two weeks, but even before as she fought the less enjoyable parts of pregnancy.

He was so good to her. So calm and so kind.

 _You make me want to be a better man_ , Tony had said early into the relationship. When they were both scared that their pasts would ruin their future.

"I'll take her," Tony said again. His voice firm.

Ziva held the baby close to her.

She wasn't sure if she loved this baby yet, she had not felt that gushing geyser of love that Tony had professed to, but she knew she had to keep her safe.

She knew the baby was safe with Tony. She trusted him without question.

But, the baby would be safer in her arms.

"I read that if I feed her, she won't get confused when you try again," Tony said, his voice authrotive, like when explained the plot of a movie. "It's something to do with nipple confusion."

Ziva blinked a few times.

Tony had read through all the breastfeeding pamphlets with their garish colours and bad mid-nineties stock images. He regurgitated facts every so often, when the baby did something that made Ziva concerned.

Tony had memorised what hunger cues looked like.

He was trying. He was trying so hard.

"This is just a temporary measure," he assured her. "Once you and Talia work out the kinks, this will all just be memories."

He made it sound so easy.

Ziva relinquished Talia. Tony placed Talia into the crook of his arm, in one swift move.

He was such a natural at baby care, and his mother had not brought him new dolls every time they went to the mall.

He was already such a good father.

"All right Tali-bear, we've had a difficult afternoon," Tony said, softly to the tiny creature. "This'll help. Once you're full, we'll have some Daddy-daughter time."

Ziva watched as her daughter took the bottle. There was no fuss. Talia suckled happily.

Talia was always happier in his arms.

Ziva felt her shirt moisten.

She looked down. Two wet patches had bloomed on her chest.

Wasted milk.

There was a saying about spilt milk. Not to cry over it.

Ziva had learnt by now, that the saying did not apply to breast milk.

Her lip quivered. She sank her teeth into her lip.

She would not cry.

Crying is weakness Ziva, her father's voice echoed in her head. His came to her easily when she was tired.

"There you go," Tony said. His eyes are focused on Talia. Talia has relaxed into her father's embrace. "You were hungry, aren't you?"

Ziva felt suprefurulous in the room. An extra in the scene. She had brought her daughter into the world, but now she was no longer needed.

Tony knew how to anything and everything for their daughter.

Yet, he was the one going back to work on Monday.

What was she going to do then?

"Why don't you try pumping again?" he asked. His voice soft and encouraging.

His eyes were still focused on Talia. He was so in love with her.

Completely smitten.

From the moment Tony had met her, he was in love with his daughter. Ziva could remember the tears in his eyes, when he saw her for the first time.

"That would be the best of both worlds, right?" he continued.

Talia finished eating. The bottle was drained. The bottle was deposited on the coffee table.

Tony moved Talia to his shoulder. Rubbing her tiny back.

Ziva squinted at the scene. She was completely unnecessary.

An appendix.

Father and daughter would be okay without her.

They would survive, and with the help of everyone else they just might thrive.

They didn't need her.

"She has the most beautiful eyes," Tony said. "Just like you."

Ziva knew this. She had studied the tiny creature in the hospital bed, taking every tiny inch of her, while Tony was crashed out on the ezi-chair.

Ziva was supposed to be sleeping, but she could not bear the thought of something happening to Talia, while both of her parents were sleeping.

Ziva had carefully unwrapped Talia, like a present. And, Talia really was the best gift she had ever received. Ziva had counted every tiny finger and toe. She had studied the tiny gap between Talia's button nose and little lip.

Ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes.

Talia was an absolutely perfect creature.

Too perfect to be given to someone like Ziva.

Ziva had done bad things. She had taken lives.

Surely, the universe would conspire against her, to take this baby away.

Talia had to be protected at all costs.

"And, that grip," Tony murmured, as he pulled the baby down from him. The tiny fists are curled into a ball around Tony's pinky finger. "She's a baby ninja."

Tony was already so in love with her.

He was deliriously happy.

Even though Talia kept them up all night, Tony absolutely adored her.

"It is a reflex," Ziva murmured. Her voice flat. "That's what the book said."

Ziva had read about crazy baby reflexes, among other things about babies and baby raising.

She had read so much.

Yet, it had not helped.

None of that information had come easily to her. Not when Talia's cute little whimpers had devolved into a full-blown screaming fit, Ziva had wanted to join her. Screaming and wailing.

She was so lost. The fog was thick, and Ziva could not move through it.

She wanted somebody to wrap their arms around her and hold her tight.

Tony had rushed into the room, even though he was supposed to be sleeping. They had broken up baby care like a stakeout with each taking a shift. Tony had taken Talia into his arms, and held her tightly, whispering soft words.

Ziva had been quivering in the corner.

"Maybe, I'll put her in the sling," Tony said, as he stroked Talia's tiny cheek. "She sleeps way better in that. The doctor said the movement is soothing. She'll think she's still in the womb. Where was the sling?"

Talia pretty much only slept when she was being held and rocked. The sling was the best thing, as it meant the parent who was holding Talia, had their hands free.

Tony volunteered for the walking naps. He would put his Bluetooth headphones on his head, and would settle into an audiobook or podcast. Talia would sleep soundly, as Tony wore a hole into the rug.

How easily it all came for him.

Ziva scanned the room, wondering where the sling had been deposited.

The living room was a mess. Baby crap and dishes on every surface.

Their world was chaos, both inside and out.

They had meant to move upstairs to the bedroom which had been specially set up for the baby. Since, they had arrived home, they had found themselves staying downstairs, rather than going up and down. Downstairs was closer to the kitchen. Downstairs had the space between the dining table and the sofa which was perfect for walking Talia into sleep.

Tony and Ziva had worked out a system where they took turns with the baby, and the other went upstairs to sleep. Tony had given himself longer shifts, as Ziva was still recovering.

"Give her to me" Ziva said, as she watched as Tony scanned the room for the sling.

Ziva held out her empty arms for the baby. Talia all eight and a half pounds of her was placed in Ziva's waiting arms. Suddenly, her arms were heavy again. Full.

Ziva liked that feeling of fullness. Until she didn't. It was uncomfortable.

Talia blinked at Ziva, with her huge brown eyes. They were drooping. Talia was tired.

Ziva moved Talia so she could rest on Ziva's shoulder, as it was the best position to prevent spit up.

Ziva placed her hand under Talia's little bottom. The baby nestled close.

Ziva felt her heart heave.

"Once, I find the sling, you can go to bed," Tony said, as he got up, and started moving the mess around. "Maybe, have something to eat first. I think there's some of that rice Leyla made."

When had she last eaten?

Ziva had been warned by the mothers in her life, the nurses in the hospital, and two dozen blog posts, that she would be ravenous in these first few weeks of parenthood. Recovering from childbirth and breastfeeding needed extra calories.

Their loving friends, had gifted them food, which stocked their fridge and freezer. Tony could be found wolfing down a plate, when he did not have the baby.

Ziva seemed to have lost her appetite once the baby had been born.

Ziva pressed her nose into Talia's head. The thick baby hair.

The smell.

That baby smell.

So sickly sweet.

She felt something stir in the baby.

Talia's tiny fist pounded on Ziva's shoulder.

Ziva bounced on her feet.

Movement was supposed to be good for the baby.

Tony appeared back in Ziva's line of sight, yards of teal coloured fabric tied around his waist.

"Come to Dada," Tony said, holding out his arms.

When Ziva was still pregnant, she had woken from a nap to find Tony struggling with the teal fabric, and a couch cushion. Practice, he had called it.

He wanted to be ready.

"Then we'll let Ima get some sleep," Tony said.

Ziva placed Talia in the sling. Tony reached behind and adjusted the sling.

Talia settled onto her fathers chest, and within seconds she was asleep.

"This is the most amazing feeling," Tony said, his hand rubbing Talia's little head. "Was it like this when you were pregnant?"

Ziva shrugged.

She wished she was still pregnant. Round and fat.

She could keep Talia safe then.

She would suffer through the third trimester forever, and ever, if it kept Talia safe.

"Let's let Ima get a nap," Tony said to the baby.

Tony looked at her.

"Dad said you can't hear anything in the basement," Tony said.

Senior had visited the day before. He had nabbed a baby snuggle, and tried to help out where he could. He had brought fresh fruit and vegetables, and cooked frittata. Senior, had also helped out with some laundry. Senior had taken the basket of clean laundry down to the basement to sort and fold, away from the baby debris.

When Senior had not surfaced for nearly an hour, Tony had ventured downstairs, and found Senior asleep among baby onsies and towels.

It was just so quiet. Senior had said, as he emerged from the basement.

"I am fine," Ziva lied.

She was a zombie.

She had only slept in ten minute increments in the eight days since the baby was born.

She had managed eight hours cumulatively.

Not that sleep had been easy in those last weeks of pregnancy.

"You're not," Tony said. "Go for a shower, and a nap. We'll take it turns. Jimmy said that's what he and Breena did with Tori. We should make the most of me being home."

Tony's paternity leave was nearly over.

Then she would be by herself.

Alone all day with the baby.

"If it was warmer, I'd take squirt here for a walk," Tony said, his hand on Talia's back.

Talia let out a weird snuffle sound.

A reminder that she was in the room.

Ziva looked out at the window.

It had started to rain again. Soft droplets on the window.

Spring had been it's usually temperamental self.

It was still so cold.

"She is not vaccinated," Ziva said. "And, it's so cold."

The flu, RSV all floating around.

There was much danger outside.

Ziva had to protect the baby. From absolutely everything.

Could they just stay inside these four walls forever?

Home was safe.

"When its warmer," Tony murmured. "We'll take her for a walk. Would you like that kid?"

The child was eight days old and has a thousand nicknames. All from her father.

She was already so loved.

Her father loved her so much.

"Maybe, we'll take you to the cherry blossoms?" Tony said in that sing-songy baby voice. "Ima loves them, it's her favourite time of year."

Technically fall is her favourite time of year. Ziva loved the crisp crunch of leaves underfoot. The rich orange and red leaves were a carpet on the sidewalk.

Spring was a close second.

Spring brought hay fever, but the brief season of the blossoms was beautiful. Ziva loved the pink blossoms.

"I wonder what her favourite season will be?" Tony asked.

Who will this baby grow up to be?

Ziva touched Talia's tiny head.

Ziva remembered the drive home from the hospital. Ziva sitting in the back seat, her hand on the edge Talia's car seat.

Were they really letting them take this defenseless creature home.

Tony adjusted his gait. Tony rubbed the baby's tiny back.

"She's so tiny," Tony said.

Ziva watched father and daughter.

Tony was so in love. Talia was so happy in his arms.

"Go to bed," he said to Ziva. "You'll feel better when you sleep."

Tony had said the same thing to Talia the night before. When the tiny creature had fought sleep. A bath had been enough to settle Talia.

Talia had slept for an hour and a half. Ziva for thirty minutes, sputtering awake every ten minutes.

"We'll be okay," Tony said. "Go."

Ziva hesitated.

It would be the first time Ziva was in a separate room from Talia.

She was not ready for that.

"We'll have some Daddy daughter time, won't we?" Tony said.

Ziva felt a lump in her throat. Had her father ever been this sweet with her. This soft.

"Better get started planning your Brit Bat too," Tony said. "Not many people get a party when they're three weeks old."

Talia's Brit Bat was set for the third Sunday in March. Tali would be three and a half weeks old. They were lucky to be able to hold it so early. Talia's Brit Bat would be the week after Purim. The time between Purim and Passover was always busy for the Rabbi Ziva knew. Talia would be blessed by the same woman who had married her parents.

The cycle of life. There was comfort in that.

Their friends were rallying around, to save the new parents from the nitty gritty of planning a party.

Senior had taken it upon himself to order the food. Abby had appointed herself chief decorator. McGee had organised invites, and was in charge of logistics on the day. The event was rather small, but the less the parents had to do the better.

Ziva wondered if she would have any clothes that weren't milk soaked or covered in spit up.

Or if she would have anything to wear, that would fit.

Could she attend her daughter's Brit Bat in maternity leggings and a nursing top?

"Guess you're just special," Tony whispered. Still talking to the baby.

Talia slept on.

"Go," he promoted. "I got this. Take as long as you need."

Ziva pulled at her hair.

When was the last time she washed it?

Had she washed it since Talia was born?

"Say layla tov, Ima," Tony said, as the baby hit her fist on his shoulder.

It was two in the afternoon. Far from time to say good night.

Talia started to fuss. A squawk. Then a mewing sound. Ziva smelt the problem before Tony registered it.

She had been told the babies who were exclusively breastfed had almost sweet smelling excrement.

She would not know.

Talia's excrement smelt exactly how one would expect.

"Its okay kid," Tony said, as he walked toward the sofa. Where the changing mat had been set up. "Ziva, go to bed.

So much was their ornately decorated nursery, and the specialty changing table.

"Daddy's got you," Tony said. "We've got this."

Ziva's chest ached.

She felt like a child. Being sent to bed, because she was bad.

She was not needed.

She took a breath, and walked toward the base of the stairs. She would go where she was sent.

"Daddy's got you," Tony said. His voice carrying up the stairs, as Ziva walked up them. "Daddy loves you, more than anything."

 **A/N:** I don't own a thing.

Yes, the early days of parenthood are going to be tough for Ziva. The next few chapters are going to explore that. This will end happily. Ziva will find peace.

I have never had a baby, so I do not know the seismic shift that a baby can cause. I hope I can do this journey justice.

Thank you so much for all the kind words for the last few chapters. Each kind word means a lot to me.

Next chapter, will feature the Brit Bat and an appearance from Gibbs.


	28. Small Beautiful Things

Ziva stood in front of the mirror in the en suite attached to her and Tony's bedroom. The en suite, the work of the previous owners, was tiny, and converted from an old sleeping porch. Usually, Ziva used the larger bathroom across the hall, as there was more room to move, but the en-suite guaranteed privacy when their were guests in the house.

Downstairs, the living room was filling up with people. It was the third Sunday in March. Everyone was there to celebrate the baby. To welcome her.

Ziva ran her hand through her tired hair, and sighed.

It was sad. No matter what Ziva did, it did not look like it should. She dragged her finger through a curl, and felt some hair come loose.

She held her hand to her face, and was greeted by a clump of dark dry hair. Each strand was thin, but felt like straw.

She had been warned about this from the blogs, and the books. The drop in hormones caused everything she had gained in pregnancy to disappear.

The round stomach. The hair. The fuller bust.

Her hair had gotten so thick in pregnancy. The shower drain no longer became clogged by strands of Ziva's hair, much to Tony's delight. At one point, she had pulled all of her thick hair into a braid, and Tony had called it a braid of steel, and blathered on about the Lara Croft movies for five minutes.

Now, it was all gone.

She scanned the tiny bathroom for a hair elastic. She had to do something to make this situation workable. She had to make herself presentable. Even though, her stubborn under eye circles came through from under the caked on concealer.

Tony wanted to take photos, lots of them. Ziva did not want to be documented in this state.

 _Today is going to be a good day_ , Tony had said, as they got Talia ready. She had been brought a new outfit for her Brit Bat. It was a cream coloured onesie, made of organic cotton. White was the colour of purity, of newness.

Talia was pure and new. So perfect.

Ziva could not ruin that.

She could not ruin this day, either.

Tony and Senior had spent all of Saturday afternoon, cleaning the living room and kitchen, making it presentable, even though their guests would not care. The living room smelt faintly, on the pine cleaner that they used on the surfaces.

Since, Tony had returned to work, after a too short paternity leave, they made an effort to bring the baby upstairs, to get her to sleep in the room to try and build some sort of routine.

The effort was futile. Talia slept when she wanted, but never for very long. She still slept best when she was being held, or was in the sling.

Ziva had spent many endless afternoons, walking between the couch and the dining room table, trying to keep Talia asleep. Ziva did not yet trust herself, to put an audiobook or podcast on, like Tony did.

She needed to be completely available if Talia need her. She needed to listen to those sleepy snuffles. To be sure her daughter was still breathing.

Sometimes, when she was sure Talia was asleep. Usually, after counting the little breaths the tiny creature expelled, and checking her position in the sling, Ziva would delve into the dark world of parenting forums on the tiny screen of her cell phone. She lurked, never posting, but there were always a dozen forums asking the same questions Ziva had.

Some of these virtual busybodies, said rocking the baby to sleep every damn time, meant that baby would never sleep on her own. They would claim that the baby would be eight and still co-sleeping.

Ziva could not imagine that tiny baby in her arms as an eight year old. Whenever she tried, her mind drifted to Gibbs, and his daughter who would forever be eight.

Other posters on these forums were kinder, assuring the other exhausted parents, that holding their babies close was fine. That it had not been so longer, since the baby was in the womb where it was warm and dark. The posts were almost always written as letters, starting with Dear Mama. The posts talked about the pure joy of motherhood.

Where was the joy?

Motherhood was all hard slog.

Her mother's generation, did not have the same access, to equally freaked out new parents, spurting their ill-formed remedies to every parenting malady.

Her mother had her own mother. Ziva's Savta. Ziva could barely remember her grandmother, except for the smell of bread that always seemed to accompany her, and her unkind words whenever Eli David walked into the room. Ziva's grandmother had died not long after Tali had been born, and Ziva's mother had been sad for a long time.

Ziva wanted her mother. She wanted her mother to be more than a ghost. More than a memory.

Senior had been as helpful as he could, conscious of his position as the only biological grandparent Talia had. Not that biology was a barrier in their chosen family, Talia would know so much love, from so many different hearts.

Ziva, had longed for another mother in their group. One who had been through all of these troubles and turmoils. A mother, or even a mother-in-law who could talk her through the early days of breastfeeding, and soothe her fears.

There were other mothers in Ziva's life, Leyla, Breena and Ziva's neighbours had all offered advice, but they were either still in the trenches of early motherhood, or only a few years removed. Ziva needed someone with gravitas, someone who had successfully launched their child into the world. Successfully, created an adult.

She needed someone to tell her that she was doing things right, because she was so sure she was doing this all wrong.

There was a creak on the stairs, which broke Ziva from her thoughts.

She made one last assessment of her outfit, in the mirror. The mirror with its smudge marks, and streaks. It needed a clean. Tony and Senior's cleaning spree had only extended as far as guests could see.

She was wearing the wrap dress she had brought the previous spring for her graduation. She had wanted something light, knowing that the graduation robes would be heavy, and the first week of June, could be humid.

The wrap dress had gotten multiple outings during that summer, in the early days of pregnancy. It had been loose but flattering, as the little changes in Ziva's body started to add up to busted buttons and too tight shirts.

Now, nine months and a live baby later, it did not sit quite right. Her newly expanded chest was spilling out it even with the nursing tank top. The tie of the wrap cut right across the Ziva's belly, making it obvious that it was not flat or toned.

The wrap dress, was the only nice thing she owned that still fit. For the last three weeks, her wardrobe consisted of leggings, and t-shirts which had easy access to Ziva's chest, even though the baby was not really nurse. If it was cool Ziva would throw on a cardigan which really needed a wash. She probably smelt, but Tony had not said anything.

"Ziver," a voice called.

Ziva ran her hand down the dress, brushing away any loose hairs.

She walked into her bedroom, and saw Gibbs' sitting on her bed. He was wearing a sports coat, over slacks and a shirt. Gibbs semi-formal, Tony had called it once, when they were organising their wedding. They had not enforced a dress code at the wedding, wanting their friends to be comfortable. Gibbs' had surprised them all, by turning up in what they believed to be a new suit.

Ziva blinked a few times. It was strange to see him in her bedroom. The David-DiNozzo dream house, was the unofficial clubhouse, for many of the family events, but most of the festivities however late into the night they ran, were usually kept downstairs, or in the basement. Upstairs was private.

"You okay?" Gibbs asked.

Ziva sat down next to him. She watched as the rolls on her belly showed through the thin fabric of her wrap dress. Should she try and wrestle herself into the seldom used shapewear she kept in her closet. All for the sake of some photos.

"Yes," Ziva said. "I was pumping."

Ziva pointed to the dresser in the corner of the room. One of the drawers was half open, with a tank top hanging out. On top of the dresser, was a two bags of milk, and the disassembled pump.

She and Talia were still trying to start what the parenting forums, called the breastfeeding journey. Ziva and Talia had managed a few more successful feeds, which were almost pain-free for Ziva, but most of the time Talia failed to get a good latch, or it became unbearably uncomfortable for Ziva.

The most frustrating part was that whenever Ziva found a position that worked, it would only work for a handful of feeds, before it did not.

"You're missing the party," Gibbs said.

The noise of the party carried up the stairs. Breena and Abby were fusing over the baby. Tori was chattering, trying to gain attention, after being toppled from her position as the youngest member of the clan.

"I will be down soon," Ziva said.

Gibbs moved slightly closer. She could smell the hand sanitizer, they had put near the front door, with anyone who wanted to hold the baby having to use it.

The baby was so small. Too small for big germs.

"It's your party," Gibbs declared.

The hand sanitizer smell tickled her nose. It was supposed to be apple scented, but it just smelled like chemicals.

"It is for the baby," Ziva replied.

The baby was here now. Earth side, Tony had called it, as if the baby were an alien.

Ziva's part was over.

The baby was here.

Earth side.

Ziva was the one who felt like an alien.

"You're the reason she's here," Gibbs said softly.

One into two.

Ziva's heart still ached over their split.

The baby was here now.

Ziva was an extra in the scene.

Tony could do everything Talia needed. Tony could be everything Talia wanted.

Ziva had seen the way their family had wrapped their arms around them.

Ziva had always known she was just a body.

A body for her father to use. A body to be sacrificed for the greater good.

A body that was abused by too many men with ill-intent. A body that had so many scars.

A body to bring forth life, but that could not nourish it.

"You did good, kid," Gibbs said.

Ziva blinked a few times. Their ratio of words was off kilter. Gibbs was dominating the conversation.

Ziva swallowed thickly.

She had not done good.

More than once, she had wanted this all to stop. Wanted to go to sleep, and still be pregnant.

She had been so excited when she was pregnant.

Now, she was just scared.

So scared.

"I," Ziva stammered.

She stopped herself. What could she say.

How could she say it to Gibbs.

He had lost a child. An eight year old with red hair, and freckled cheeks.

Ziva was being ungrateful for the living child, she had been gifted.

"Is this hard for you?" Ziva asked.

Gibbs moved closer to her. His hand wrapped around her shoulder. Pressing them close. Ziva could smell sawdust and his cologne. A warm washed over her.

She felt safe.

When the baby had been born, they had invited everyone to visit them in the hospital, knowing that Abby would go crazy if she was kept from her newest niece for too long. They had asked everyone to come in groups of two, and not to bring small children, or germs. Visitors were to text, when they wanted to visit.

There friends had complied. Breena and Jimmy had been the earliest visitors, bringing with them practical gifts and knowing smiles. The baby had been placed in Breena's arms, and the two had looked at each other with a huge smile. Perhaps remembering, perhaps thinking to the future.

When the McCouple had visited, Ziva had seen the same glint in their eyes, a thought to the future. Ziva remembered sharing that look with Tony, when they held Tori for the first time.

Abby had visited by herself, with enough gifts and love for three people, Abby always had so much love to give.

Ellie had brought Ducky, and the old man had smiled in delight as he held the baby. Tony had snapped a picture of the youngest person they knew being held by the eldest.

Leyla had visited, bringing gifts for Ziva, including the most comfortable underwear Ziva had ever worn. Amira had written a card, but she had too much of a sniffly nose to visit.

Gibbs had been the last visitor, visiting the afternoon before they were discharged, texting only when he was sitting in the waiting room of the maternity ward. Gibbs had stayed for only a few moments, gazing at the baby. He had been offered a hold, but had shook his head, seeing that the baby was settled in Ziva's arms. He had placed a soft kiss on Ziva's cheek, and given Tony one of those slap back hugs that men tended to do. Then as quickly, as Gibbs had arrived, he had slipped out of the room, leaving behind the faint scent of sawdust.

Ziva had wondered then, if the memories had been too much. If Gibbs mind had drifted to a redhead bundle of joy. Or if he had jumped aboard the what-could-have-been train, and pictured Kelly older than she ever got to be, holding her own child, while an exhausted husband sat in the corner.

"Today is a good day," Gibbs declared.

A good day.

Today they were to celebrate.

Talia had arrived safely. She was a happy and healthy child.

She was not yet a month old, but had already been surrounded by so much love.

"Yes," Ziva said softly. "Today is a good day."

Gibbs rubbed her shoulder.

Ziva took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

She tried to summon the happiness. The joy.

It could have been so much worse, she told herself.

The baby could have been born sleeping.

Something could have gone wrong, and they could be faced with a baby, who would grow but always be dependent.

They could still be in the hospital, the baby or Ziva hooked up to machines.

The baby could not have come at all. She could have been lost. Nothing more than a streak of blood in underwear, and streams of tears.

"I miss Schmeil," Ziva whispered. Her voice cracking as she spoke.

She missed Schmeil and his wise words. She missed Schmeil because he knew them too, because Schmeil would be able to sit with her, and talk about what Ziva's mother would make of all of this, because he had actually known Rivka David. He had known her moods, and her stunted intellect. He had known her cooking, and that cooking was how she transmitted her love.

Perhaps that was why Ziva's appetite had disappeared. Food was love, to be given and taken, and she did not believed she deserved love.

Ziva missed her mother. She had longed for her mother during the pregnancy. It had been a dull longing like the other aches and pains of pregnancy. Now, that longing was acute pain. She wanted her mother in the same way she had as a small child. She needed her mother.

Ziva missed her sister. Missing her sister was so tightly entwined in missing her mother. They had been so close in life, and so close in death. They had died years apart in age, but close in time. Ziva wondered what her little sister would make of her new niece.

What would they have named the baby, if the name Tali was already in use?

Liora. Nora. Ada. Maya. Olivia. All of them had been given a moment of consideration, but none of them fit quite right.

Ziva felt her eyes water. She bit her lip. Sinking her teeth deep.

She had put make-up on for the first time in weeks, she was not going to ruin it.

She missed her father. Or rather the idea she had of her father. She had to believe that time would have softened him. That with impending grandparenthood, he too would have found the joy.

Would his heart have melted as he held tiny Talia for the first time?

Could it have been the start of reparations between father and daughter?

"You're doing good, kid," Gibbs repeated.

Sometimes his economical choice of words was frustrating, but in that moment it was exactly what she needed to hear.

 _You're doing good._

Good.

Ziva was good.

A good mother. A good wife. A good person.

Good. Good. Good.

"I am tired," Ziva murmured.

Tired. She was so tired.

It was more than tiredness. She knew that, but after over a decade in America, she knew that being tired was something she could claim. Under tired, she could hide all of her other feelings.

She was tired.

She was overwhelmed.

She was scared.

She shoved all of those feelings under the rug of tiredness. The rug bulged up. She was going to trip over that one day.

One day soon.

"DiNozzo doing his fair share?" Gibbs asked.

Ziva nodded.

Ziva had never been the wife who had to nag her husband to do things. Tony had lived alone for so long, so was under no illusion that dishes did themselves. They had split the chores mostly down the middle, each doing the ones they hated the least.

When the pregnancy had knocked her for six, Tony had taken on the extra household tasks, with no complaint.

When the baby came, Tony had changed almost every diaper during his paternity leave. Now, that he was back at work, he was doing as much as he could. The first thing he did when he walked in the door, no matter what kind of day he had, was take Talia into his arms, giving Ziva a break.

During that break she tried to take a shower, and rest. Sleep was still elusive for mother and daughter. In the shower all the thoughts that had been brewing that day, would come back with a vengeance. The water would stream down, and her thoughts would race.

 _You are a terrible mother._

 _You do not deserve your baby._

 _You have to keep her safe. So much danger follows you._

"Of course," Ziva said softly. "I have barely changed a diaper."

Tony was a good man, and an amazing father.

All of the doubt, that he had wrestled while Ziva was pregnant, turned out to be unfounded.

A storm in a teacup, Ziva had always liked that idiom.

Tony had been a natural parent.

"Good," Gibbs said. "Good."

There was more noise on the stairs. Tony's voice was carried up them.

"Just need to get Little Miss cleaned up," Tony said, "Then we can get this party started."

Tony appeared on the landing, holding Talia at arms length. Ziva could smell the problem. Talia's cream onesie had a growing stain.

Breena had warned them about the cheap diapers, and poop explosions.

"What happened?" Ziva asked, rushing up, as Tony moved into the room that had been designated as a nursery, even though Talia had never spent more than a couple of minutes in there.

Ziva's bare feet moved from the wooden floorboards of the bedroom to the freshly laid carpet of the nursery.

The nursery had been painted a soft peaceful blue-green colour, one that reminded Ziva of the sea. It reminded Ziva of the sea.

Ziva had always liked the sea.

Talia's shrill cries brought Ziva crashing into the present. Ziva's heavy breasts panged with pain, like they always did when Talia cried. It was nature, making sure her milk was available. Mother nature had not got the memo that Talia could not latch.

"The bomb went off," Tony declared, as he pulled Talia's brand new onesie not over her head, but down her body like it was a pair of pants. It had taken them more than a few days to work out that baby onesies had those envelope shoulders, to avoid pulling poop up over the baby.

Ziva shivered at his choice of words.

Then she caught sight of the soiled diaper.

A poop explosion.

Talia wailed.

"Sssh," Tony hummed. "We need to get you cleaned up, then find you something else to wear, then you can go back into Grandpa's arms. You like it there, don't you?"

Senior had been one of the few people they had let visit multiple times since they had come home. Senior had the benefit of being able to pop by on a Thursday afternoon, and the willingness to trade household chores for baby snuggles. So, Senior and Talia had formed a sweet bond. Ziva knew Senior was trying to make up for past sins.

Ziva moved closer to the baby.

Ziva looked at the baby. She was as naked as the day she was born, and withering in the cold. Ziva reached forward to comfort the tiny creature.

The stairs creaked. Ziva could hear Gibbs descending. Going down to tell the rest of the family to be patient.

Tony lifted the baby slightly, and wiped her bottom.

"The Rabbi finally got here," Tony said softly. "Only twenty minutes late."

Ziva scoffed.

The Rabbi, a woman only a decade older than Ziva, always ran ten or so minutes late, and had no sense of direction. The Rabbi had gotten lost driving to their wedding venue, and McGee had to drive out and meet her, so she could follow behind him.

The Rabbi despite her quirks, was full of wise words, and always knew when to dispense them. The Rabbi had been so excited when Ziva had attended services, with her huge belly pulling at her blouse, even though the synagogue was forty minute drive from the new house.

"We should get this show on the road," Tony said, as he clumped all of the baby wipes together, and through them in the special diaper bin. He pulled a face.

How did someone so little make such a mess?

"She needs something to wear," Ziva said, as she opened the drawers underneath the changing table.

They had been given so many clothes, many Tori Palmer's hand-me-downs, which were much more pink and frilly than Ziva would have chosen. Ziva riffled through the drawer of tiny clothes. During those long last weeks of pregnancy, after Ziva had left her job, she had sat on the floor of the nursery folding and organising the clothes by age and season. Nesting. Preparing for the baby like she was a doll, who only needed to be dressed. Now, the drawers were a mess, Talia had not even worn half the clothes designated for her newborn weeks. She grew so quickly.

Ziva pulled out a mustard yellow onesie that stuck out among the pink and purple.

She stood back up, ignoring the stretch in her thighs, from squatting for so long. She had gotten so unfit.

Talia was in a fresh diaper, and had calmed.

Ziva presented Tony with the yellow outfit.

"What do you think kid?" Tony asked, showing Talia the outfit.

Talia kicked her legs.

"Do you think she can see colour yet?" Tony asked, as he opened all the fastenings, and readied himself. Talia did not enjoy getting dressed.

Ziva remembered, when Tony had told her that babies do not see colour when they were first born. She had still been pregnant. He had taken to listening to audiobooks about parenting on the drive home from work, and had dispensed that little tidbit, as Ziva tried to banish a craving for ice cream after dinner. She had eaten the ice cream, as Tony talked about everything he had learnt about vision.

The baby was wrestled into her onesie. Once she was dressed, Tony took the baby into his arms, her favourite place.

"She's so perfect," Tony murmured. "We're so lucky."

Ziva reached for the baby. Her finger brushing the baby's tiny cheek.

Her daughter was so beautiful.

She and Tony had made such a beautiful thing.

"She's falling asleep," Ziva whispered.

Tony smiled. His huge thousand watt smile. Ziva loved that smile. That smile had gotten her through so many bad days.

"Of course our kid would sleep during a party meant just for her," Tony said, as he rubbed her tiny back.

Ziva smiled at her husband holding their daughter. They made such a pretty picture.

"Junior," Senior's voice called. "The natives are getting restless."

Ziva touched Talia's tiny foot that hung out of Tony's embrace.

Her daughter was so small.

So beautiful.

She had to be protected at all costs.

"We better go," Tony whispered.

Ziva nodded.

Slowly, Tony shuffled from the nursery toward the hallway. Talia was content in her father's arms.

Ziva followed behind.

She sucked in a deep breath, as Tony descended the stairs, his hands tightly on the baby, not on the railing.

They could fall. The tiny baby could be crushed under Tony's huge chest. Ziva could not loose either of them.

Ziva walked to steps behind him, holding the railing extra tight, as it could protect all of them.

Ziva only let out the breath she was holding, when the family of three had reached the bottom of the stairs.

At the bottom of the stairs, was over a dozen pairs of eyes, young and old. All their nearest and dearest, had been waiting for them.

The Rabbi, with her thick curly hair, and Slavic features smiled from the other end of the room, near the fireplace.

The little family walked toward the Rabbi. Ziva's arm snaked around Tony's waist.

Ziva picked up the tallit, she had left on the couch, it had once belonged to her father. Ziva had found the shawl which was older than her in the farmhouse when she and Tony went to Israel all those years ago. She had kept the prayer shawl in a bag, high on a shelf in her closet. Then when they moved to the big house, it had been moved to the spare closet in what was now the nursery. It had been unearthed during the renovation, and Ziva had kept it close. She had so few things to remember her father by. She had so few good memories of her father.

She opened up the shawl, as Tony moved his arms. Ziva moved forward, and wrapped the baby in the shawl. The baby squirmed, but quickly calmed.

Ziva stepped back, and looked around the room. Everyone had formed a semi-circle around the little family. Some guests were sitting. Some were standing. Tori was sitting on Breena's lap. Ducky was sitting next to them. Jimmy stood behind the couch, a happy smile on his face. Amira was pouting because her iPad had been confiscated. Leyla stood next to her, cradling the iPad like it was a baby. McGee's hand rested on Delilah's shoulder. Ellie and Abby lingered by the food, both wearing huge smiles.

The dining table had been pushed to the wall. It was laden with small treats; cupcakes, and mini sandwiches with toothpicks piercing them. There was a pink lemonade in a glass bowl. On one of the chairs, there was a pile of gift bags and wrapped presents, even though they had asked for no gifts.

Their family were so generous.

Ziva studied her living room, and noticed some bunting had been hung above the fireplace. Ziva studied the little flags, and realized the gold letters said _Welcome Talia_ in Hebrew script. They had the lovely messiness of being hand painted. Abby had appointed herself chief decorator. Had Abby decorated each individual triangle between lab tests and caf-pows. Had Abby spent many careful hours trying to make sure she had gotten the translation right.

"Are we ready?" the Rabbi asked.

Talia let out a yawn, causing a laugh from many of the guests.

Tony looked to Ziva, and Ziva nodded.

Those who were standing moved closer. Gibbs and Senior were at either end of the crescent of people surrounding them. Senior and Gibbs stood closest to Tony and Ziva.

His father, and the closest thing she had to one.

There was so much love in the room. They were surrounded by so much love.

Their daughter would know so much love.

"Well friends and family," the Rabbi begun. "We're here today to celebrate the arrival of Talia Catherine."

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Thank you so much for all the kind words, tweets, and love.

I have never been to Jewish naming ceremony, so apologies if I got anything wrong.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter being earlier than expected. The muse has been busy.

The next chapter will most likely be up next week, and will feature Senior. We're going to have a few chapters focusing on Ziva's adjustment to parenthood. I do promise, this journey will end happily, but like all good things it will take time.


	29. At The Bottom Of The Garden

Ziva woke with a startle.

It took her a second to realise that she was sitting up.

She waited to hear Gibbs' barking orders, and for the pumpkin walls of the squadroom to come into focus.

She waited for the evil laugh of Saleem, or one of his men. She waited to taste dust in her mouth.

She blinked a few times, and realising she was at home. The home she had so carefully crafted. She was sitting in the armchair that was in front of the main window in the living room. The coffee table in front of her was littered with baby stuff; an empty bottle, a blanket, and swaddling blanket. It was Ziva's favourite swaddle blanket, the one with a citrus fruit print.

She remembered slowly. She had a baby.

Where was her baby?

Ziva's chest ached. Not only with milk, but with a phantom weight. Talia slept best, when she was laying on one of her parents chests, or was being rocked to sleep. She needed to be close.

Talia's parents needed to keep her close.

Had Ziva left the baby upstairs?

They were supposed to be working on putting Talia down in her bassinet to sleep. Every time they tried to lay her down, Talia would scream bloody murder. A shriek so loud that it should not come from someone so small.

A shriek that could rip Ziva apart.

Ziva would do anything to stop Talia's pain.

That is her job as a mother. To protect Talia from the pain. At whatever cost.

Motherhood was matyrhood.

Ziva blinked a few times, and realised there was no baby on her chest.

Panic rose through her. She bolted up, her feet digging into rug that softened the hard period authentic floorboards in the living room. She scanned the room, looking for any sign of the baby.

Where had she put her?

Had she really misplaced her like a set of keys.

She was the worst mother.

The oft-worn sling was draped over the dining chair closest to the couch.

The owlet sock, a present from McUncle, was on the table, and not on the baby. How would Ziva know if the baby's blood oxygen dipped to low? Even, if Talia was in perfect health, and the sock was relatively useless.

Next to the sock, was Ziva's breast pump, disassembled.

Ziva had tried guiding Talia to the breast again, for her first feed after Tony had gone to work. Talia had not had a bar of it. Ziva had relented and given the baby the bottle. When Talia had gone down for the first nap, Ziva had pumped. Sacrificing more yet sleep, when there was no room in the budget.

She had not been a mother who suffered from low supply. Her body made the milk. Ziva took pride in that. She did not have to use formula anymore.

Ziva padded toward the kitchen. Her body ached, the armchair was not meant for sleep. She had let herself get so unfit during pregnancy. Her body looked so different than it did a year ago.

So much had changed in a year.

So much had changed without Ziva having a chance to register it.

Ziva had not had decent sleep since Talia was born. Even, when Tony took the baby mere moments after walking through the door, and told Ziva to go for a nap. All the books he had read during Ziva's pregnancy, had told him that the parent who was home with the baby needed a break, every day.

Ziva lived for that break. For him to walk through the door just after six, and often literally take the baby from her arms.

Stil, when she was finally baby free, she could not sleep. She would take a long, shower knowing the baby was in safe hands, and the familiar thoughts would race through her.

 _You are a terrible mother._

She would step out of the shower, and be too wired to sleep. Too pent up.

You are a terrible mother.

Sometimes, she would go to bed, pulling the duvet over her face, only for the thoughts to continue to race.

 _Your baby doesn't love you._

Sleep had been caught in snatches, when Ziva's body simply gave up. It was always fitful. Always hard. Always broken. The sleep was not usually broken by the baby cries.

Ziva's heart heaved.

Where was her baby?

She looked down at her hands. No blood. No sign of trauma.

What had she done?

She had to have done something. She could not be trusted.

The clock on the oven, it was only mid afternoon. Too early for Tony to be home.

Tony had gone back to work when Talia was twelve days old, and still so tiny. He had lingered in the kitchen, on that morning. He had kissed a sleepy Ziva twice, and an awake Talia three times. He promised that he was just a phone call away, and that he could drop anything if his girls needed him.

 _His girls._

Ziva had nodded and sent him off.

She had been left holding the baby.

Talia had started wailing, as soon as Tony's car left the driveway.

Ziva had been taught not to believe in coincidences, it was one of Gibbs' rules, but in that moment she believed the wrong parent had gone to work.

It did not matter that Ziva was still bleeding.

Ziva was in the wrong place.

The baby knew it too.

Ziva padded around her house.

Where was the baby?

Ziva moved back toward the dining room, passing the pile of unsorted laundry that had taken residence on the dining chair. She noticed the back door was open.

Had she left it open?

Had somebody come in taken her baby?

She should not have closed her eyes. Sleep was for the weak.

She was so weak.

The April air flowed through the open door. The smell of pollen, and spring flowers.

Ziva can hear Talia's happy sound. It was a sort of laugh, sort of squeal. Talia made that noise often when being held by Tony.

Ziva felt her heart quicken.

Who had her baby?

Ziva rushed through the open door. Her ears hurt, as panic pulsed through her.

Who had her baby?

Who was making the baby so happy?

Ziva stepped out onto the deck. Talia's blanket was on patio table.

Ziva picked it up, and placed it on her shoulder.

Where was the baby?

Who had taken her baby?

It was cold, Talia needed her blanket.

Ziva felt her lip quiver.

These last four weeks had been such a shock to Ziva. A culture shock, one of the books written by a navel gazing author, had declared the early weeks of parenthood to be.

Everything felt weird. Like she was walking through streets she did not recognise.

Nothing she had ever done was like caring for a newborn. She thought that she would be prepared for sleep deprivation, after all the stakeouts and missions. She thought she was prepared for the loneliness of ten hours a day at home with a newborn, she was good at being by herself. Instead she felt so worn out, and so alone.

So overwhelmed.

She could remember her mother when Tali was born. Those dark circles under her eyes. Of Aunt Nettie, sleeping on the couch in the apartment in the sky. Of the neighbour, who picked Ziva up from school everyday for months. Of her grandmother, who coughed and coughed because of the smelly cigarettes she smoked, who came to their apartment every afternoon to cook dinner, and give Rivka a hug. How tightly Ziva's mother would cling to her own mother.

Ziva wanted a hug. She wanted her mother to give her a hug.

She wanted her mother.

Ziva had thought she would be the better parent. The natural parent. It was a matter of biology.

She had thought that Tony would be the one who struggled. He was the one who got loopy when he was without sleep.

When she was still pregnant, especially when she had to leave her job, she had decided that she would be the one who sacrificed more for this child. She would be the martyr. She could take pride in being the martyr.

Then all of her ideas had been turned on their head. Tony had been the one who was better at the drudgery of very early parenthood. Tony had been the natural parent.

There was a figure holding Talia, down at the bottom of the garden, by the tree that separated the David-DiNozzo house from the neighbour behind them. The figure was obviously male, but had their back to Ziva, but Ziva could see Talia's bootied feet hanging out from his arms.

Quickly, Ziva recognised the silver hair, and expensive shirt.

Tony's father.

Relief pumped through her. Her anxiety was replaced by anger.

What was Senior doing?

Ziva rushed down the stairs of the deck toward the end of the garden. Her socked feet were quickly soaked, by the wet grass.

Ziva's feet felt gross.

It had rained earlier that day. A brief spring shower. The weather forecast had promised a week of intermittent showers.

Not that it made any difference to Ziva. She had no plans to leave the safety of the house.

"Hello sweetheart," Senior said, turning to Ziva. Talia was comfortable in his arms. She was sleepy but not quite asleep.

Ziva reached out for Talia, but Senior did not relinquish his hold.

Talia was happy. Senior was happy. Ziva was not.

"What are you doing?" Ziva asked. She did not care if she sounded angry.

"Getting some fresh air," Senior said softly. "It always smells so nice after it's rained."

Ziva moved closer and plucked Talia from him. Talia made a noise, she had been happy in Senior's arms. She did not want to be pulled around.

Ziva's shoulders sagged with the weight of Talia. She felt her tension release. Ziva rested the baby on her shoulder.

The baby took a while to settle.

"No, what are you doing here?" Ziva asked.

Senior blinked a couple of times. His mouth moved to say something, but stopped.

Ziva rubbed Talia's back, but felt the soothing in her own body.

"Its Friday," Senior clarified. "I always come over on Friday."

Ziva nodded. She had no idea what day it was. All the days had started to meld together. Her week was only divided by the days Tony was home, and the days Tony was not.

"I'm going to make fish for dinner," Senior added.

It was too early for dinner. Fish did not take long. Since, the baby had been born, Friday dinner had moved from Ziva's domain to Senior's. He arrived with the ingredients and cooked, often under Ziva's instructions.

Ziva missed cooking. Ziva missed remember knowing what day of the week it was.

It was Passover soon. Talia's first Passover.

She had already missed her first Purim, which had been on the eleventh day Tali's little life.

It had passed without being noticed. Only remembered by Ziva after the fact.

Ziva knew that she was the only person who could organise Passover. In the years since she and Tony had gotten together, Tony had gotten better at recognising the holidays, but did not know how to prepare for them.

Ziva had tried over the years to cultivate more Jewish friends, but had struggled. She did not have the Jewish day school and summer camp memories of American Judaism. Her accent, often picked up on invited potential friends to reminisce of birthright Israel trips, or talk about a trip.

For Ziva, Israel would always be more complicated than she could ever try to articulate.

The Rabbi who had performed the Brit Bat for Talia, had handed Ziva a flyer for the Passover Seder which would be held at the synagogue. This year, the doors would be open to refugees from the community, even if they were not Jewish. Passover was the story of refugees.

All Ziva had to do was turn up. With or without the baby.

Could she risk taking the baby, still unvaccinated, to such a big event, with all the people she did not know.

Could she leave the baby with Tony, without worrying about the baby during every single moment.

"Junior, said there were no more challah in the freezer," Senior said, bringing Ziva out of her thoughts. "So I brought some."

Challah was always a part of these dinners, even if the candles were not always lit. In preparation for the baby Ziva had made extra challah loaves and frozen them in the big freezer in the basement. Yet, in the last weeks of pregnancy she had broken into the stash, as she did not have the energy to stand at the counter. Her back, feet, and hips had all ached, so Ziva had taken the lazy way out.

"When did you get here?" Ziva asked.

Senior looked at her. A frown on his face. Confusion was evident.

Ziva patted Talia's back. Talia's tiny fingers knotted in Ziva's hair. Talia tugged at a loose curl.

For someone so small she had such a strong grip.

Both on Ziva's hair and her heart.

Ziva was afraid of that grip.

Both on her hair and her heart.

"An hour ago," Senior said, shaking his head slightly. "Maybe an hour and a half ago."

Ziva blinked a few times.

She had no concept of what time of day it was.

No concept of how much time had passed.

"You let me in," Senior said. His face was still etched with concern, making him look even older than he was. "Talia was hungry. Really hungry, she was trying to scream the house down. So we fed her."

Ziva rubbed Talia's back, and swayed slightly. A comfort for mother more than child.

Early motherhood had destroyed her short term memory.

"You let me feed her," Senior said. His face now wearing a huge smile. "Thank you for that."

Ziva had taken to letting other people feed Talia. It helped soothe her disappointment, of not being able to breastfeed the baby.

There was still the nagging sense of failure every time she prepared a bottle.

Tony relished in every moment, when he fed the baby. He took each moment of parenthood in strive.

He had fed Talia at the Brit Bat, smiling the whole time. Ziva's crunchy mama neighbour had raised her eyebrows to her hairline when the bottle came out.

Judgement had threatened to spoil such a lovely event.

Ziva had felt the need to announce the woman she barely knew, that bottle contained pumped breast milk.

 _Fed is best_ , the pediatrician had assured them, just before they left the hospital, and again when they were to the one month well-child visit.

The failure still nagged at Ziva.

What kind of mother cannot feed her baby?

What kind of mother was she?

A terrible one, she had decided.

"Then we changed her diaper," Senior said, delight dancing over his face. "I was singing to her to try and get her to sleep. I didn't work on her, but it seemed to work on you, you fell right asleep. Junior said the rugrat isn't really sleeping at night, so I figured we'd let you sleep, and take her outside."

Ziva felt a stirring in Talia. She pulled her from her shoulder, and cradled her in arms. A football hold the breastfeeding pamphlet had called it.

Talia looked up at her with her huge dark eyes. Her eyelids started to droop.

She was finally tired.

"I think the fresh air was good for her," Senior continued. "Did you know in Denmark they put their babies outside for a nap? Even in the snow."

Tony had said the same thing to Ziva last week, when he suggested a walk. Ziva had resisted claiming it was too chilly, and the weather report had threatened rain. Had Tony shared the tidbit with his father too.

There were more germs in the cold air.

Tony had touted that fact. Then Talia had started fussing, so the conversation as well as the walk was quickly forgotten.

Ziva did not want to go out.

She could not control what happened outside like she could inside.

"It is cold," Ziva said. "Too cold."

Inside the thermostat was set to what the baby book called the perfect temperature.

Talia started to fall asleep in Ziva's arms.

"She's pretty wrapped up," Senior said. "Maybe, even a little warm."

Talia had a little hat on, the one Abby had gotten her. It was grey wool, with little ears sewn on. It made Talia look like a bear.

Was Talia too warm?

Ziva remembered the infant care book she had inhaled and learnt by rote. Wanting to know everything that could go wrong. Wanting to know what she could to prevent anything bad happening.

Symptoms your baby is too hot: fussiness, red colour, and a high temperature.

Ziva made a mental note to check Talia's temperature when they got inside. There was a thermometer in the nursery.

Every chapter of the parenting books had ended with the same sentence; remember parents, trust yourself, you know your baby.

That was the biggest lie of parenthood.

Ziva did not know her baby.

Ziva did not trust herself.

"Did she feel warm?" Ziva asked.

Ziva pulled off Talia's hat, and rubbed her tiny fine baby curls.

"She's okay," Senior said, with an all-knowing voice. "She liked being out here. I showed her the trees, and we saw a bird. Didn't we Talia?"

Talia was heavy in Ziva's arm. A weight. An anchor. Keeping her thoughts from floating away.

"She loved it," Senior added. "Especially when we got some of the breeze. She did that noise that kinda sounds like she's laughing."

Ziva had a thousand questions.

Which steps had Senior used to get out of the house?

The steps on the deck tended to get slippery. They were barley up to code.

Had Senior carried her daughter down the rickety stairs?

What if they had fallen?

Senior was old, and could have gotten on unsteady on his feet.

Had he held Talia with two hands, or had he put one hand on the railing and held Talia with just one hand.

She needed to know.

She had to keep Talia safe.

Ziva adjusted herself, and with the movement was reminded her socks with soaked through.

"I was going to take her for a walk," Senior said softly. "But, you two haven't got a stroller, yet. I don't know how to do that sling thing. I don't think my back could take it."

They had a pram, sitting in the garage. It was "borrowed" from the next door neighbours, whose son now used a sit up stroller.

Talia hated lying down. Whenever she was put down, Talia would fuss. Talia insisted on being carried, and her parents were happy to oblige.

There was comfort in holding her so close.

Ziva was glad Senior had not known about the stroller.

What if something had happened?

What would she have done if an out of control car had clipped them, knocking them off the sidewalk?

How would she have found them if Senior had gotten lost? He barely used his cellphone, and he did not know this neighbourhood well.

"Babies like walks," Senior said softly.

Ziva nodded. She rocked slightly. Talia's arm hung out.

"Did you Tony out for walks?" Ziva asked. "When he was a baby."

Senior flinched. He paused, licking his lips. His eyes flitted around, focusing back on the house.

"The Nanny probably did," Senior said, with a sigh. "I don't know if she left the grounds. We had a pretty big garden, Catherine always wanted to go it up nice, like they have in England."

During their first year together, Tony had taken Ziva to Long Island. He had shown her his childhood house, with its huge gate. They had not gone inside but Tony had told her stories. He had so few memories of the house, but described a warm feeling when he saw the house. Like it was home.

Ziva rocked the baby. Talia was half asleep.

"When Junior was young," Senior started. There was a long pause. A thought caught inside of him. "I didn't do this stuff. I missed out. I want to make up for that. I know I can't change anything, but I want things to be different.."

Ziva nodded.

Talia's mouth opened and closed. Ziva studied her tiny face.

Talia was just four and a half weeks old.

She had changed everyone who she came into contact with.

She wondered what her father, would have made of this.

Would baby Talia have melted his heart too?

Would Eli have wanted to change the cycle?

"Don't take offense to this," Senior started, turning back to Ziva. "But, you look exhausted."

Ziva was. She knew if she laid down, sleep would be a futile endeavor.

"Why don't you go upstairs," Senior continued, offering his arms to take the baby. "Have a shower. I can keep an eye on Talia."

Ziva liked the idea of a shower.

 _Have a shower everyday_ , Breena had whispered to Ziva at the Brit Bat, _that is how you get through the newborn stage._

Ziva looked down at her nursing shirt with it's two-day old stain. Ziva had gotten into the habit of pulling the previous days outfit, trying to save laundry. The baby produced so much laundry.

So much laundry that did not get done.

"I'll put on some laundry too," Senior offered.

Senior was determined to help with the baby. He had no idea how to change a diaper, but he could do laundry and cook.

Ziva looked down at Talia. She was content. Ziva did not want to disturb her.

Her arms ached with the weight, yet she was not willing to give Talia up.

"I want to go inside," Ziva said, softly. "My socks are wet."

Senior looked down at Ziva's feet. His eyebrows raised. His mouth dropped open, with realisation.

"Did you not know we were out here?" Senior asked.

Ziva's face fell. She gave it all away.

"I did not know where she was," Ziva admitted, as she looked down at the ground.

She had known where her baby was.

She was a terrible mother.

Senior's face softened.

"Oh sweetheart," he said, his voice cracking.

Ziva pressed the baby closer to her.

"It was just for a moment," Ziva said, trying to soften the blow. "I was confused. I had just woken up."

The scariest moments of her life.

Senior stepped forward, and opened his arms to her. Within a blink, Senior's arms were around her. The hug was loose, mindful of the baby between them.

The hug broke apart.

A bird flew above them.

Ziva tried not to cry.

"Can I tell you something?" Senior asked.

There was the distant noise of a lawnmower, somewhere in the distance.

Ziva gripped the baby tighter. They were pressed together. Chest to chest.

"Sure," Ziva said.

She could feel the baby's heartbeat against hers. There was comfort in that. Ziva's heartbeat slowed.

"Today would have been Catherine's birthday," Senior declared.

Talia Catherine, named for two women who she would never meet.

"Tony didn't say anything," Ziva said.

She and Tony usually talked about those things. They had their acts of memorization. Candles. Special meals. The opera.

The daughter with two names, that used to belong to other people.

Senior reached out for the baby, rubbing her tiny back.

"I don't think he even realises," Senior said, his words heavy. "He was so young when she -."

Ziva stroked the baby's back. She listened for the baby's tiny breaths. Her arms ached, but she did not care.

Senior swallowed thickly.

"Some years I don't notice it," Senior said. "It's been so long, but with everything that happened this year, I guess she's been on my mind."

Ziva sucked in a breath. She knew this dance. Grief was never linear.

It was like waves. Sometimes it was low tide. Sometimes it was high tide.

At the moment it was high tide, and the sea was choppy.

There were too many empty seats at the dinner table.

Too many people Talia would only know as still photographs and names.

"Catherine is the only wife whose birthday I could remember. Not every year, but most years. I usually had this nagging feeling," Senior continued. "When I was married to Denise I came home with flowers and card, I was convinced it was her birthday. It wasn't. We were already on thin ice, so that didn't help."

Ziva felt a sickly feeling in her stomach.

She shifted her weight, and jiggled Talia.

The baby was still asleep.

Ziva knew from all the parenting forums and books, that she too should be napping now.

Though for Ziva, napping was tossing and turning, until eventually giving up.

Tony would not let her take over baby tasks, until she had napped for at least two hours. Ziva often spent those sleepless hours on the parenting forums, taking advice from women, and it was always women, who called their children dear son, or dear daughter, or even using the silly acronyms.

So many of these virtual people, from states Ziva only knew the names of because of her American citizenship test, always suggested leaving the baby to cry it out.

Ziva could not do that.

"Last week," Senior started again. "When we had the naming ceremony, I really felt her absence. She would have loved you, and the baby."

Ziva's mouth was dry.

She moved her foot slightly, and felt the squelch of her wet socks.

"I wasn't really doing anything at home," Senior said, his voice cracking. "I thought coming over would help. Sometimes it's not good to be alone."

Ziva licked her lips.

There was so much about her father-in-law that she did not know.

"No," Ziva declared. "It is not good to be alone."

The baby stirred.

A breeze drifted through, making the leaves move.

 _You are not alone_ , Tony had told her once.

Yet, she felt so alone.

"Tony might be late," Ziva said softly. "He went in late yesterday because of Talia's doctor appointment."

Talia's one month well-baby visit had gone well. Talia was gaining weight, despite the difficulties feeding her, and was meeting all the developmental milestones.

Tony's colleagues were less than impressed with him taking the time, especially mere weeks after he came back from paternity leave.

That morning Ziva had sat in the back seat during the twenty minute drive to the doctors office. Talia did not like being in her carseat. She did not like driving. The tiny creature had made her complaints known during the drive.

Ziva was glad, she had never had to ask for Tony to take the morning. She was not sure she would have had the words.

She was not sure she would have been able to manage a drive with Talia. So much could go wrong.

The next visit, the doctor promised the baby would get her vaccines.

Ziva hoped, when Talia got her vaccines, that this anxiety would lessen.

She would not have to worry about the measles or whooping cough.

"So more snuggles with Papa," Senior declared, looking over at the baby. "How does that sound, Tali-bear?"

Ziva swallowed thickly. Senior had picked up the nickname from Tony.

Talia was so loved.

Talia was happy in Senior or Tony's arms.

Talia would be perfectly happy without her.

"Can you come over early next Friday too?" Ziva asked.

Ziva needed to get some control back.

She wanted to get back in the kitchen. She missed cooking. Next week she would cook Friday dinner.

She had fallen down, and now she needed to get back up again.

 _Do not wallow_ , Eli had instructed her once, when childhood was just too much. _It is weakness._

Senior nodded, a smile dawning over his face.

"Of course," he said smiling right up to his eyes. "Would you like that Talikins?"

The sky above them started to darken.

It was going to rain.

Ziva looked to the back door, then back up at the sky.

"Let's go inside," Senior said, as he looked up at the sky. "Did you have lunch? I'll make you some."

A droplet of rain broke through the cloud.

Ziva pressed the baby closer to protect her from the rain.

She had to protect her from everything.

Senior started to move, and Ziva followed crossing the garden. Her socked feet getting caught in wet grass. The once white socks were now spotted with green.

"Maybe, we'll see a rainbow," Senior said, as they reached the steps in front of the deck. "Wouldn't that be nice, Tali?"

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Next chapter will feature Tony, and Senior. I'll try to get another chapter up soon. Hopefully this weekend.

Thanks for all of the love. I'm so behind on the the review replies.


	30. Shadows In The Corner

Tony adjusted his gait as he walked out of his front door, Talia was on his chest, wrapped in the yard of teal fabric, that made up the well-used sling. He looked down at her, and saw her tiny little mouth pursed.

His Dad had moved from the front yard to the sidewalk. His shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the diaper bag hanging off his shoulder, making the shoulder sag slightly.

"I missed you today," Tony whispered to his daughter. "So much. I miss you every day."

The baby as expected did not respond.

Did she miss him? Did her heart hurt when they were separated?

Twenty minutes ago, he walked in the door, to find Ziva wearing the closest approximation to adult clothes she could muster at five and a bit weeks postpartum. The baby had been happy, laying on a sleeping Senior's chest, with a pile of clean folded laundry surrounding them.

Ziva had been in the kitchen. The oven was on, and something was simmering on the stove.

Tony had kissed his wife, and she had kissed him back. He had held her tight, enjoying the moment. She smelt like sour milk, that organic diaper cream they used on Talia, and a faint whiff of the coconut shampoo that lived in their shower. Ziva had found time to shower today. Enough time to wash her hair too.

Today had been a good day, Tony had determined.

For the first time in five weeks, Tony had come home and not felt like he had to put out a thousand fires.

Everything was calm.

"Seemed like you had a good day," Tony whispered to the baby, as he walked down the path to his Dad. His Dad's head perked up. "All of you."

The baby was wearing a sunhat. A white floppy thing that looked ridiculous on her tiny head.

It was after six and only early April. UV rays were a margianal threat, in the grand scheme of things.

Tony checked his watch, they had less than an hour before sunset. Like he did every Friday, during his lunch hour. The days were getting longer.

"We did," Senior murmured, a huge smile on his face.

Tony crossed the threshold from his front yard, to the sidewalk.

A car slowly meandered its way down the street. It's sole occupant a man in a shirt and tie. Another suburbanite returning to his castle.

The crunchy hippy neighbour, waved from across the street, as she loaded her kids into the car. She was wearing a loose dress that hid her usually slender figure, which was styled to look like it was from Mexico. Tony wondered if the woman even knew what cultural appropriation meant. The seldom seen husband, was sitting in the front seat of the SUV, with a dull look on his face.

"What time did you get here?" Tony asked.

Talia let out a snuffle sound. Baby snores melted Tony. Everything about this baby melted him.

Senior walked a couple of steps in front. He was closest to the road.

"Ten maybe," Senior declared, looking at his watch for emphasis. "But, Ziva sent me out for groceries, after lunch."

Tony ran his hand over the baby's back. Talia was not just shy of 40 days old, he wanted to keep her close.

"Good," Tony murmured. "Did you have fun with Grandpa Talia?"

Talia as expected did not respond. Tony studied her tiny nose, and little mouth. His nose over Ziva's mouth.

"I had fun," Senior replied, wearing a smile on his face. "And, I finally worked out your washer."

The first time Senior had used Tony and Ziva's washing machine, wanting to help with the baby, he had managed to put the washing on to high a setting, and had shrunk a pair of Tony's work pants.

"Thanks for helping out," Tony said.

The walked past the biggest house on the block. A huge glass monstrosity, that looked out of place. Senior stopped and gawked. Senior always enjoyed displays of grandeur.

"It's what family does," Senior declared, as he started to move again.

They moved slowly along the street. Another car zoomed past, Tony recognized it as the teenager neighbour who lived a few doors down. The one who always drove too fast.

"It's a shame we missed peak blossom," Senior declared, with a sigh. "We could have taken the baby."

Peak blossom was early this year.

"Would you liked that Tali-bear?" Tony asked. "To see some cherry blossoms. I took your Ima last year."

The year before, when Talia was still a glint in her parents eyes, and Ziva had not yet graduated, Tony and Ziva had gone for a walk through the national arboretum to study the blossoms. They had taken the time to talk about the future.

They had talked about Ziva's upcoming graduation, and her job hunt. Tony had told her how proud he was of her.

They had talked about the baby they were trying to have. Imaging tiny baby fingers and toes.

How they would bring the baby to see the blossoms.

"So next year," Senior declared.

They walked at a slow pace. Senior was tired. Tony was carrying extra weight.

Talia was piling on the pounds.

So was Tony.

Ziva, on the other hand was fading away. Tony had noticed how Ziva tended to move the food around on her plate. Tony knew it was more than just wanting to shift the baby weight.

It was different.

"She should be able to see colour fully, by then," Tony declared.

The tidbit Tony had picked up about when infants saw colour, when Ziva was still pregnant.

It still blew his mind.

"You two aren't going to wait until next year to take her out, are you?" Senior asked.

They turned the corner, passing another house which would have been built at the same time as Tony and Ziva's red brick colonial. So much of their neighbourhood was infill housing, a mishmash of eras. There was always so much to look at even in bland suburbia.

"No," Tony said, his mouth dry.

At five weeks and two days old, Talia had only been two outings. Once, for Talia's one month well-child check up, and for this walk.

There had also been multiple aborted walks. Where the family of three, would get ready, packing the diaper bag and finding the baby carrier. Only for Talia to start to fuss, and Ziva's resolve to crumple.

By the time Talia had been settled, and/or fed, the walk would be forgotten. There would be another fire to put out.

"We try to take her out," Tony admitted. "But, she hates the baby bucket."

Before the baby had been born, Tony had gone two different stores to be sure the car seat was installed correctly. To be sure the baby would be safe.

In the two trips they had taken in the car. Talia had been fussy. The first trip, going home from the hospital had been anxiety inducing for all involved. Talia was so small, and Ziva was still recovering. They were going away from all of the knowledgeable nurses and supplies if something went wrong. Tony had been relieved when they pulled into the driveway.

They were safe.

They were home.

There were so many bad drivers on the road. So many people breaking laws. So many people who did not seem to care, that there was precious cargo on the road.

"I asked Ziva if she wanted to go for a walk earlier," Senior said. "She looked at me like I had asked to go to the moon."

Tony swallowed thickly.

He knew the dance Senior was talking about.

Ziva was loathe to leave the house. The safety of the four walls. Their castle.

"She's worried about germs," Tony declared, as if Ziva's sudden agoraphobia was normal. "When we left the hospital they gave us this info sheet about RSV, it really spooked her."

Senior frowned.

The hospital had also given Tony a pamphlet about postpartum depression, which he had stuffed deep into the weekender bag. He had found it, when he was looking for his spare phone charger, and studied the symptom list.

Sleep disturbance, appetite disturbance, irritability, and anxiety.

He could tick so many boxes.

"I think it'll be easier when Talia gets her vaccines," Tony said, hoping that the storm of the last few weeks would pass through. "Not that the vaccine rate is the best around here."

Senior looked down at the ground.

They passed the grey house, which looked like it had been transplanted from the Hamptons. Tony had always liked that house.

"I think Ziva is getting a little cabin fever," Tony admitted.

Senior looked back at his son.

"These early weeks," Senior declared. "They're hard."

Tony looked down at the baby. She was content in her sling.

Tony was kangaroo. Talia was his joey.

"How did you and Mom do it?" Tony asked.

Senior stopped for a second. They turned a corner.

"We hired someone," Senior declared matter-of-factly.

"Like a nanny?" Tony asked. "From Flushing, Queens."

Senior rolled his eyes at the reference.

"Eventually," Senior declared, as he looked at the baby. "First it was a night nurse. I can still remember her, she looked like she stepped out of Mary Poppins. She was more like Supernanny."

Tony looked at his father.

"You didn't sleep well," Senior continued. "Your Mom would sleep in your room. It wasn't good for any of us. The night nurse made sure you slept by yourself."

How old had he been when he suffered his first abonnement?

A tiny creature in a too big crib.

All alone.

Was this why he wanted to keep Talia close.

During the pregnancy Tony had nightmares, or rather visions. Of a baby all alone in a big crib. Crying and crying. Nobody there to comfort the tiny creature.

Had it been memory.

"That was how things were back then," Senior said. "At least for us."

Tony held the baby closer.

"Hiring someone," Tony said. "It's not an option for us."

Tony knew he earnt more than he ever had before, in terms of salary, but he missed the pay boost of the overtime he did in Gibbs team.

Especially, now he had a family to support.

Ziva's inheritance was for emergencies, and except for the emergency fund Ziva had stashed away, the rest of the money was hard to get.

"I know," Senior said, as the reached a junction. "Shall we go up Bitternut and go to the park, show Talia the duckies?"

Talia drooled slightly. Her spit pooling on Tony's shirt.

He looked up at the sky, trying to guess how long they had until sunset.

He gave up, and pulled out his phone. The screen was black. Tony had meant to charge it in the car, but in his sleep deprived state had forgotten.

"Can I borrow your phone?" Tony asked.

Senior reached into his pocket, and handed it over. Tony was greeted by another dead screen.

Tony looked at it, and sighed.

"Better not," Tony declared. "Dunno when the sun is gonna set. Ziva will be waiting for us."

Tony looked down at the baby.

Ziva had given him a full diaper bag when he announced he was going to take the baby for a walk. She had tried to wrap her questions in baby talk to hide the anxiety.

 _Daddy, going to take you for a walk_ , Ziva had said as she lowered the baby into the sling. _Just around the block, you'll be back home soon._

"She could have come with us," Senior declared. "She likes walks, remember that hike she took us on, when we were in Italy?"

Tony smiled. The trip to Italy felt so long ago. Ziva and Schmeil had researched the DiNozzo family history in northern Italy. During some downtime, the three of them had walked around hiking trail in the park. Ziva had marched a top speed, Tony slightly behind, and Senior and Schmeil trailing behind.

Senior had offered for Ziva to join them. The challah, homemade this time because Ziva refused to eat store bought again, was already out of the oven.

The chicken, was still marinating, and they could have waited a few minutes to put it in the oven, and still have everything ready in time for sunset.

Still, Ziva refused, saying she wanted to get everything done.

"Maybe next time," Tony said with a sigh. "Would you like that Tali-bear?"

Tony could picture it already, a family parade around the block.

Tony took the baby's tiny fist. He ran his finger up her chubby forearm.

Talia looked so peaceful when she slept.

They walked down the street that ran parallel to theirs.

"Maybe you could get a stroller," Senior said. "And, I could take Talia out, and you two can have some quiet time."

 _You gotta make time for each other_ , Jimmy had said at Christmas, where he had given Tony a far to intimate detail of his and Breena's struggle to get their sex lives back on track after Tori had been born.

It was Ziva's six week check up next week. Tony was under no illusions that after the check up, even if the doctor gave them the green light, that marital relations would resume.

There was no way Ziva was ready for them.

During one of the late nights, when Ziva had crept into bed after checking on Talia, Tony had wrapped his arms around Ziva's waist, and stroked her stomach. It was a weird texture, not flabby but loose. He had wanted to hold her close. It had been so long since he had held her.

 _Please_ , Ziva had begged, as she pried his hand from her. _I am sore. It hurts._

Those words had come from another place. The past. When she had no control over her body.

 _What hurts?_ Tony had asked sleepily.

 _Everything_ , Ziva had said.

Before Tony had a chance to ask more, Talia had started to cry, causing both of them to get up.

That had stung. Tony had always prided himself on knowing Ziva, knowing when she wanted to be touched. In knowing how to make her feel safe. Knowing when to make her feel loved.

In that moment he had not wanted anything but to hold his wife close.

Since, then he had kept his hands to himself.

Maybe, the six week check up would change things. Reassure Ziva. Some of his more traditional colleagues had made whipping noises when Tony had revealed he would be ditching work early to take Ziva to her appointment.

He had mentioned Ziva had complications, and one of the other men had mentioned that his wife had a c-section and hadn't been able to drive for a few weeks. Tony had let his colleagues make assumptions, and not corrected them.

They had not been there, when the colour drain from Ziva's face. They had not heard the nurse confirm Ziva's blood type.

Tony had been studying his newborn daughter, as the doctors did the checks, when Ziva was fading. He had turned back, only to see the aftermath of the blood loss. He had rushed to her side, and wrapped his hand in hers. His eyes still glancing at the baby. He had been torn in two.

In that moment, when everything was about to shatter, Tony had known that all the mattered two him was in that hospital room.

He had taken the job at Fletc, laying down his guns, and missing the thrill of a hot case, to put his family first.

Life had two cups, and in Tony's case they would never be equally filled.

Family would always come first.

"Maybe," Tony muttered. "Are you going to come early next week?"

They past the house that was directly behind theirs. Tony looked through the trees that bordered the house, to try and see his own house. His home. He caught a glimpse of the red bricks, and the roof of the garage.

"If Ziva asks me to, yes," Senior declared, as he stopped in front of Talia. "I hope she does. We had a good day didn't we Talia?"

The baby remained quiet.

She had woken up and was looking around. Tony wondered what she made of all these new sights.

Tony nodded.

He worried about Ziva, home alone with the baby, all day every day. He had lived with Ziva for multiple winters, he knew how she got when she did not get outside.

There had been a time, when she had been confined. When she did not know if she would ever see the cherry blossoms or multi coloured autumn leaves again.

"I think you'd like that," Tony said, talking to the baby. "I bet Ima would like that, too."

"It's yours and Ziva's show," Senior declared. "Tell me what you need, and I'll try my best."

Tony looked back.

If he couldn't be there, his Dad would be a reasonable substitute.

He had felt the pull of home. Many mornings, after another difficult night, Tony had sat in the driver's seat of his car, still enclosed in the garage, and wondered if he should call in sick.

He and Ziva had always had each others backs, and been there for each other.

It felt wrong to leave her behind, with something so mammoth.

Especially, now that he had read and reread the leaflet about postpartum depression.

"We don't really have anyone else," Tony said.

They turned the corner. Inching closer and closer to their house. To home.

Tony had felt the acute absence of family when they had been planning Talia's Brit Bat.

Ziva had been ready for something simple, as they idea of a separate naming ceremony to welcome a little girl to the faith was relatively new.

Tony had wanted only the best for his little girl. He had spent hours googling Brit Bat's and had even listened to an audio book about Jewish lifecycle celebrations.

With each google, Tony had been greeted by photos of babies being held by grandmothers and great grandmothers.

They had taken dozens of photos on the day of Talia's Brit Bat. Tony in his shirt with baby spit up. Talia wrapped in Eli's tallit, her mustard yellow clad arm sticking out of the makeshift swaddle. Ziva with mascara running down her cheek, because a tiny chair had slipped through when the Rabbi recited the blessings.

Tony had watched later, when Talia was passed around, and wondered what his mother had made of this. Or even Kate, what would she have made of Anthony DiNozzo finally settling down, and having a daughter.

He knew Ziva was feeling the gap in the family photographs too. She had gotten a photograph of her mother out from the photo album, on the morning of the Brit Bat.

When they were filling out the birth certificate, still in the hospital, Tony had offered to slip Rivka's name into Talia's full name, giving her two middle names.

Talia Catherine Rivka DiNozzo, would have been quite the mouthful.

Ziva had looked down at Talia, who was in her arms, and shook her head.

 _She is more than a memorial,_ Ziva had said, before Talia had started to fuss, ending the conversation there.

Talia was a new soul, who did not need the burden of her parents losses.

"I like the idea of you coming over," Tony said, his voice cracking. "I wish I could have taken more leave. I don't like Ziva and the baby spending all day alone."

Breena's stepmother had practically moved in during those first few weeks when they were home with Tori. Jimmy's mother, had driven down every weekend for Tori's first few months.

Their next door neighbour the one who Tony liked because like Ziva she got her idioms mangled, had not been alone during those early weeks of parenthood. Her parents or maybe his had flown from a far away contient for these early moments.

It took a village to raise a child. Tony and Ziva were still struggling to build their village.

Maybe, they should have hired the postpartum doula, like Abby had suggested during Christmas dinner. Tony had looked into the local service, but balked at the price, and the thought of having a stranger in their house.

 _Look after Ziva_ , Gibbs had murmured as Tony saw him off after the Brit Bat. Tony had brushed it off as Gibbs fatherly concern. He was the closest thing Ziva had to a father. She was the closest thing he had to a daughter.

"I'm happy to help, Junior," Senior said, his voice cracking. "There are things I missed out on with you, that I get to do with her, without the sleepless nights."

Tony touched Talia again. She would only know the good side of Senior.

She would never be sitting in the waiting area, the last kid to be picked up for winter break. Talia would never know what it felt like to forgotten.

He must have gotten the dates mixed up, Tony had said. His face red. The staff member charged with staying back, looking at him with squinted eyes the time difference you know.

"And, it's always good to see Ziva," Senior continued. "Maybe one day she'll tell me how she gets the rice so fluffy."

Tony smirked.

"I don't even know that secret," Tony said softly. "I'm pretty sure it's a family secret on her Mom's side."

The women on Ziva's mother's side were good at keeping secrets.

Another question got stuck on his tongue. _Do you think Ziva is okay?_

Talia started to stir. Tony studied Talia's mouth, recognizing the baby's hunger cues.

She was hungry.

They were six houses away from home.

Tony felt a growing feeling of dread. Would he bring Talia home and witness Ziva struggle to breastfeed?

He knew from the bottles on the draining board, that Ziva and Talia managed a few good latches during the day, but he knew there would be a few seconds where his breath would be held tight. If Talia latched, all would be well. If she didn't, both mother and baby would start to get frustrated, before Tony would swoop in with the bottle, saving the day.

He worried how long Ziva and Talia struggled to get a latch, when he wasn't home.

"I've been asked to go to Glynco for a few days," Tony said softly. "The first week of May."

Talia moved her mouth again.

"You getting a promotion?" Senior asked.

Senior did not quite understand Tony's move to desk jockey from the action of being an agent, but he did try and support his son.

"No," Tony said. "It's called a training collaboration. Basically, they check that we're all instructing the same program, and give us new materials."

Senior nodded. Tony saw the vacant look in his eyes. He had understood very little of what Tony said.

"I'm trying to get out of it," Tony declared. "Georgia is pretty far away."

He did not want to be so far away from his wife and daughter.

Senior's eyebrow raised, up to his hairline.

"Junior," Senior warned.

"Talia's only little," Tony said. "It's not fair to leave Ziva alone with her for three days straight."

His supervisor, had shook his head when Tony had said he did not want to travel.

 _Don't you see the opportunity_ , his supervisor had said. His supervisor was an older man, who had been in a sergeant in the Marine Corps a lifetime ago. He had a wife who have never really worked outside of the home, an adult daughter, and twin grandchildren who were in kindergarten. _Ask your Mom to come stay with your wife._

Tony's mouth had gone dry as he explained there was no mother or mother-in-law to crash in the guest room, while Tony flew across the country for a glorified conference.

Tony knew he was missing out on an opportunity. He was a popular instructor. He taught crime scene management, and a class about case management. One of the comments he had gotten a few times in his reviews was that he was fresh. Tony was not just another retired agent who was watching the days tick by until they could claim retirement.

He had been hesitant to love the job, because it was so different from the action of before, but two years in, he was secure. He was happy.

He was juggling two cups, without too much spillage.

"You need to be careful," Senior muttered. "Don't wanna risk that federal pension."

Tony nodded. Knowing Senior was projecting his own precarious financial position onto Tony.

"I know Dad," Tony said.

Talia let out a mewing sound. The hunger was getting to be too much.

They had mere moments before Talia started to wail.

They were outside their next-door neighbours house. Their favourite neighbours house.

Nearly home.

"I haven't told Ziva about the conference yet," Tony said. "I will soon."

Senior looked at Tony.

"Tell her," Senior said. "And send me the dates. Tell her, I'll pop by every day, to give Ziva a break."

Senior had read between the lines. Senior had offered to help.

They did not have a picture perfect family, but Senior was trying.

They reached the front door of Tony's house.

He could see Ziva sitting on the couch. Loose hairs, sticking out from her braid.

Postpartum hair loss, had surprised Tony, it had not been something he had read about. The first time Tony had seen the clumps of dark curls in the drain of the shower, Tony had freaked out. A frantic google search, done while he was still wearing a towel around his waist, had revealed it was nothing to worry about.

The hair loss was due to the drop in hormones, just like the baby blues that came in the first few days after the birth. It was normal. It was expected.

That was what Tony had dismissed Ziva's early tears as, the baby blues, a drop in hormones.

Except it was not just the baby blues. It ran deeper.

Then Talia had let out a wail. A shrill scream.

"Your timing is impeccable kid," Tony muttered, touching her back, through the sling, wanting to soothe her.

They walked through the front door. Ziva was already standing by the coat closet. Her arms open. Ready for the baby. Her breasts were heaving out of her t-shirt. The t-shirt was mustard yellow, just like the second outfit, they had dressed Talia in for her brit bat.

The pediatrician had said that Ziva should not have tried pumping so early, it had caused oversupply.

"She's hungry," Senior declared, as he brushed past, headed toward the kitchen toward the smell of roasted chicken.

Ziva reached over and carefully plucked Talia from the sling. The baby's cries were still minor. Ziva held the baby close, and nuzzled the baby.

Ziva only occasionally talked to the baby, like Tony and his Dad did. He had asked her about it once, and she had admitted it felt weird to talk to someone that did not talk back, especially in such a sing-songy voice.

The baby started to quieten in Ziva's arms. Ziva carried the baby to the armchair.

Tony felt his stomach clench as Ziva pulled up her shirt, and unclipped her nursing bra.

Senior was in the kitchen, his head in the oven, checking on the chicken.

Tony took a deep breath.

Ziva's face tightened. Her eyes closed. She grimaced. Pain. Tony's heart sunk. Ziva rubbed her breast, like the Youtube video had encouraged her to do, to get a good latch.

The baby latched. Tony let out his breath. Ziva's face was still tight. She bit her lip.

"Our walk made us hungry," Tony said, as he walked toward his wife and daughter. He hovered close, even though his presence was not really needed. "And tired, maybe she'll sleep well tonight."

Ziva looked up at him with a vacant look. The baby made the snuffling noise, she did when she was eating. Ziva grimaced.

"Maybe," she murmured, before looking down at the baby. "Can you get me some water, please?"

Ziva's words were tight, and cold.

Where had his wife gone?

Tony got up quickly, eager to be of service. He raced across the room, heading toward the kitchen. Senior had gotten the chicken from the oven. It smelled amazing, Tony salivated.

He had been so hungry since the baby was born.

Senior handed Tony a glass of water, which had been poured from the dispenser in the fridge, having heard Ziva's request from across the room. The water was cold. Condensation pooled on the glass.

Tony turned on his feet, and back to his wife and daughter. He studied them, as the dusk light streamed through the living room window. Ziva's upper lip was quivering. Breastfeeding only brought pain to Ziva, yet she had drunk the breast is best kool aid, and was not going to give it up without a fight.

Fighting, was all Ziva knew what to do.

Tony ran through the symptoms of postpartum depression in his head again, ticking the boxes.

Then Ziva shot him a smile, but her eyes were dull.

Maybe, he should call her doctor. Or talk to Gibbs. Someone needed to confirm this wasn't all in his head.

His gut contracted, sending pain up his abdomen.

What if he was wrong?

Oh, how badly he wanted to be wrong.

"I love you," he whispered, as he put the water on the coffee table in front of Ziva, and sat down next to her. "I love you so much."

Ziva turned to look at him. She gave him a few careful blinks.

"I love you too," she echoed. Her words are a reflex. Said because that is what you say when someone else says it first.

The woman in front of him was a shell of his wife.

Tony wanted his wife back.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Thank you so much for all of the reviews, faves etc.

I received a guest review about, how Ziva would have had some interventions by now. I googled it, and it seems that health visitors are usually only in countries with public hospital systems, like the UK. I know, I am writing about something which can affect quite a few people, so I am trying to write this authentically as I can.

The next chapter will feature Ziva starting to open up about how she is struggling. Hoping to get that one up next week. We'll probably go back to weekly updates moving forward. The muse has pumped out nearly 20k in words in the last eight days, she's getting tired.


	31. A Helping Hand In The Storm

**A/N** : This chapter, like those before contains depression and anxious thoughts. These notes should have been on top of earlier chapters, apologies. Please look after yourselves.

Talia was switching between whimpering and shrill screams, as she had been for the last hour.

Had it been an hour?

Ziva was not sure.

Time was a concept she had lost among the chaos of childbirth.

Her feet ached. Throbbing and sore. Until today Talia was soothed by rocking.

There was a knock at the door.

Ziva touched Talia's forehead looking for signs of fever. Talia was crying so much, something had to be wrong.

Ziva had to be doing something wrong.

There was a second knock on the door. Fist on wood. Whoever was knocking, knew there was a baby in the house, and that the doorbell might cause an eruption.

Talia's whimper amped up into a full-blown cry again.

Ziva ran through her checklist of reasons Talia could be crying.

Diaper. Clean. Ziva had checked it twice, and even changed it once for good measure.

Hunger. Ziva had offered Talia her breast twice, and even made up some formula. Talia had taken the rubber teat into her mouth, only to spit it out.

Tired. Talia was likely tired, yet she would not sleep. Ziva had made every effort to soothe her, but Talia was still so fussy.

Talia's temperature was fine.

Talia had not calmed when Ziva added or took off a layer. Nor when Ziva added it back on.

Ziva had tried to burp Talia, but the cries had not softened.

There was a third knock on the door.

Ziva's heart quickened.

Had everyone worked it all out?

That Ziva was a bad mother.

Had the two-under-two perfect mother neighbor across the street called someone?

Ziva was a terrible mother.

Talia's cries were so loud.

Ziva looked to the backdoor.

Like every Friday, Senior had arrived mid morning, put a load of laundry, and grabbed the shopping list it had taken two day for Ziva to write out. For a woman who had once spent her days translating between languages, and before then solving cases, this loss of concentration was heartbreaking.

It would not be him knocking on the door. He had a key, and would park in the driveway. When he came home, laden with shopping in the canvas bags Ziva insisted he use, it would be through the back porch.

This house was his home.

Ziva's phone buzzed from the other end of the room.

Talia let out a wail. Her little face was red. Her hands were balled into fists.

Ziva felt her own eyes prick.

Ziva rubbed the baby's back, hoping it would soothe her.

"Who is at the door?" She asked the baby.

Ziva was still getting used to talking to the baby. It was so awkward to talk to something you did not expect to talk back.

Tony did it so naturally.

Tony did everything related to parenthood so naturally.

Ziva slowly crossed the room to the front door.

The minute Senior had left the house, Ziva had rushed to lock the door. Listening for the click of both locks.

Home was safe.

She needed to keep home safe.

She needed to keep her baby safe.

Ziva stood up on her toes. A figure, with long dark hair was walking down the path. On the railing of the porch was a plate with foil on top.

Ziva recognised the figure.

Talia whimpered. Ziva pressed her closer.

Within seconds the front door, and the weather screen had been flung open.

"Leyla," Ziva called out. Her voice louder than it had been in weeks.

Parenthood had stolen her sanity. Her concentration. Her voice.

The Spring air was pleasant. Ziva felt the breeze. It had been so long since she had felt the spring air.

It had been so long since she had seen Leyla or any of the other members of their chosen family.

The team had been stuck on a difficult case. Breena, Delilah and Leyla were busy balancing their homes and work. Ducky was travelling, doing a summer lecture circuit at some medical schools.

Ziva had felt so alone.

So lonely.

Leyla turned on her feet, and came back toward the house.

Talia then let out a huge wail. Ziva shifted the baby, but she kept crying.

Talia's mood had been like the sea. Moving from high tide to low tide. Going from calm to choppy.

Today was a choppy day.

Ziva felt the wetness of her cheeks.

"Oh Ziva," Leyla whispered, as she reached the front door.

Ziva let out a strangled sob.

Leyla placed a hand on Ziva's shoulder, and offered Ziva a warm smile.

An all knowing smile.

"I, I," Ziva stammered. "I am sorry."

Leyla rubbed Ziva's shoulder.

They stood on the porch for a moment. Talia's cries started to soften.

Ziva's tears stopped too.

Her arms were heavy. Her eyelids were heavy. Her heart was heavy.

"Why don't we go inside?" Leyla declared, as if Ziva's house was Leyla's.

Leyla picked up the plate that had been left on the porch.

Ziva moved back into the house.

The house was safe.

Ziva needed to keep her baby safe.

"I brought klechia," Leyla declared. "The thing with the dates."

Ziva knew what klechia was, sweet date cookies, that Leyla often brought when the only instructions for a family event was to bring food. Ziva loved anything flavoured by dates.

In their network, Leyla was on the outside. She was close to Gibbs, through his connection to Mike Franks, and had become closer to Ziva.

During the summer after Mike died, and Leyla adjusted to living in the states, a cautious friendship had developed. Ziva had shown Leyla the parts of DC that Gibbs never could. The Middle Eastern market in a dodgy part of town, where Ziva brought zaatar and Leyla could get everything she needed. The book store, on the edge of a university campus, where Leyla finally brought Amira a picture book in Arabic.

Then during that first weightless winter, after Ziva laid down her guns, Leyla had offered Ziva a volunteer position at her organisation. Cementing Ziva's plans for her future.

"I will make some tea," Ziva declared.

Leyla shook her head.

"No," Leyla said as they traipsed through the chaos of the living room. "You will sit. I will make tea, and if Talia is agreeable, I will steal a cuddle."

Ziva moved toward the couch. Talia heavy in her arms. Leyla walked toward the kitchen.

The baby whimpered.

Ziva placed her hand on Talia's tiny head again.

Did she feel hot?

Did she have a fever?

The baby was not yet vaccinated.

The colour drained from Ziva's face.

The baby felt hot.

Ziva got up, and scanned the room for the baby thermometer.

It was almost impossible to do while holding the baby.

"Ziva," Leyla said. "What is wrong?"

Leyla walked toward Ziva. She was so calm. So unfazed.

"She is too hot," Ziva declared. "I need to check her."

Leyla walked toward Ziva and placed a hand on Talia's forehead. Then placed a hand on Ziva's forehead.

Ziva flinched at Leyla's touch.

"She is fine," Leyla declared. "You are warm though."

At her six week appointment, Ziva had been diagnosed with mastitis. The doctor had given her a script for antibiotics, and told her to watch for signs of fever or serious flu. She encouraged to take showers after feeding, and make sure she emptied her breasts.

Nursing had been even more painful than usual.

Tony had seemed more keen to help with feedings, and go back to formula.

To undo all the progress Ziva was making.

"She is so fussy," Ziva said. "Something has to be wrong."

Leyla offered out her arms for the baby. Ziva let her take the baby.

Leyla was a seasoned mother. A proven mother.

Leyla knew what to do.

"She is two months, yes?" Leyla asked.

The baby quieted in Leyla's arms. Leyla hummed to the baby.

"Six weeks," Ziva declared. "As of Wednesday."

Just like pregnancy, the baby's life was measured in such tiny increments.

So much changed. So quickly.

Yet like, pregnancy these weeks wore on.

"They cry a lot at this age," Leyla declared. "They are still getting used to everything."

So was Ziva.

The fourth trimester the books had called it.

"Things will get better soon," Leyla declared.

Everyone said that.

Tony. Senior. Her doctor.

But none of them knew what this was like. This surge of hormones. The way her body felt like it was no longer hers. The way breastfeeding hurt, and yet there was no way Ziva could let go of breastfeeding.

This was the first time Tony had been responsible for a baby. He too suffered from sleep deprivation, and was a good father, but he got to go out. Got to go to work. Got some much needed space.

The same for Senior, who had been so proud when he changed Talia's diaper. It had been the first time, he had change one ever. Tony had been less proud.

Even Ziva's doctor, a woman Ziva trusted, did not know these hazy days. Ziva's doctor had adopted a daughter from overseas, who was already walking by the time she came home.

Ziva's doctor had personal knowledge of the endless treadmill of infertility.

But Leyla knew all of this.

Had Leyla cried when her hair fell out too?

Leyla knew these endless days.

"Really?" Ziva asked.

She believed it more, now that Leyla had said those words.

Leyla had been in her place.

"Yes," Leyla said with a knowing smile. Leyla had balanced Talia on her hip, and the child was quiet. "I promise."

The baby was quiet. Her face still red. Ziva reached out to touch the baby. The baby resisted.

She hates you, those dark thoughts echoed again. You are a terrible mother.

Ziva looked at Leyla. Leyla moved slightly adjusting the baby.

"I forget they are ever this small," Leyla whispered. "Are you feeling better Talijan?"

The baby's eyelids drooped.

Ziva's head ached. She was dehydrated. She was tried.

Leyla rubbed Talia's little back.

Then Ziva remembered Leyla had done this alone.

Leyla had been so young.

She had been grieving, for a lover, for a life, and for a family that had disowned her.

She had arrived in America knowing nothing, only to be told that Liam was gone, and to be whisked off to Mexico, to live with a man she did not know. A grumpy old man, who had not signed up for life with a baby.

Yet she had survived.

She had not just survived, she had thrived.

"How did you do this?" Ziva asked.

Leyla pressed her nose into Talia's hair. The baby remained in slumber.

"I think she just cried it out," Leyla declared. "I was in the right place at the right time, that is the saying yes?"

Ziva nodded.

That was not her question, but she was still getting used to the quiet in the house.

Talia's crying still rang in her ears.

"How long was she crying for?" Leyla asked.

Ziva looked around the house, hoping for an indication of when Senior had left. Talia had been fussy, as Senior did the laundry, but mere minutes after he left the house, Talia had gone off. Like a siren.

Like the air raid sirens in her childhood. So normal but so distressing at the same time.

Ziva shrugged.

Did it matter how many minutes Talia had cried for. It had been long enough to hurt Ziva.

Too long.

"These days," Leyla declared. "They warp your sense of time."

Ziva had little concept of time now. The first four days of the week, when Tony left for work and Ziva was alone with the baby, the days felt so long. So heavy.

Then on the three days, when Senior came over or Tony was home, the days were too short. Ziva barely had a moment to catch her breath, before the riptide pulled her under.

"How did you do it?" Ziva asked. She waved around the room. Then focused on the baby. "You were alone."

Leyla played with one of Talia's little curls. Then looked out to the window.

Ziva felt sick.

She should not have dragged Leyla back through her past.

"Some days were good, some days were bad," Leyla declared, her voice cracked. "I had to make sense of a lot of things, but I was never alone."

Ziva nodded.

"I cannot imagine Mike changing a diaper," Ziva said.

Leyla's lips pursed, then she let out a slight laugh. These memories were bittersweet.

"No," Leyla declared, still smiling. "But, during those early months he refused to let me help with the house or the cooking. I didn't mean him when I said I was not alone. I meant Amira."

Ziva wondered where Amira was.

She was not sure what time it was. School, possibly?

"I was so young when I had her," Leyla continued. "It is like we grew up together. On those days, it was me and her against the world. She was all I had in the world, I had to do it for her."

The baby let out a tiny snore.

They were supposed to be teaching the baby to sleep on her back, in her crib. But, the baby was finally settled. Ziva was loathe to relocate her.

Maybe, that was what Ziva was doing wrong.

She had pitted her and Talia in opposite corners, when she should still be thinking of them as one.

It was them against the world.

"I had never really looked after a baby before," Leyla declared. Her voice still so soft. "It was all such a shock."

Ziva knew a little of Leyla's past. Of the two dead brothers, killed before they were old enough to be married. Leyla was relieved by that, glad in a bittersweet way, that her brothers had not left wives and children behind.

"It was such a shock," Ziva echoed. "For me too."

She had known so little about pregnancy, childbirth or parenthood. When she started to imagine a baby of her own, she had read. She has read compulsively, just like when she was applying to be an American citizen. Except this time, Tony was just as compulsive.

She thought if she read about everything that she would know everything. She could read her way into being a good mother.

If only it had been so easy.

"On my worst days I wanted my mother," Leyla said. Her eyes were glassy. "Even though, when we had last spoke she had said such horrible things to me, said such horrible things about my baby. I wanted her. So much. Sometimes when the sleep deprivation was so bad, I was sure I could see her."

Ziva felt her own eyes moisten. She would not cry again. She had cried so much.

She wanted her mother too.

She wanted to have searched for a name to give her daughter, because Tali was already in use.

She wanted someone to hold her tight.

Leyla reached up and wiped the tears from her own face.

"I am sorry," Leyla said. "I had forgotten these things."

The books had promised Ziva she would forget the horrors of pregnancy; the hemorrhoids, the sickness, and the swelling.

The books had promised her she would forget the pain of childbirth.

Would she forget these early days?

 _Oh yes those days were hard, but worth it,_ she would say, to other mothers or even to her own daughter if she chose to become a mother.

Was this motherhood?

Forgetting, in order to move forward.

"When I was growing up," Leyla continued. She was like a faucet, she had been opened, and was gushing out. It had only been in the last few years that Leyla had found peace. "When a woman had a baby, there was a whole group of women around her, a mother, a mother-in-law, Aunties, and sisters. So many people."

Ziva thought of her childhood apartment when her sister had been born. Ziva's grandmother, already with dividing cells in her lungs, turned up every day to cook. Ziva's Aunt, childless but with an eager heart. All those neighbours, who had taken Ziva into their own apartments, and walked her to school.

 _You can take the woman out of the kibbutz_ , her Aunt had said as she collected Ziva from Mrs Bashan's across the hall, _but you cannot take the kibbutz out of the woman._

She had never found out if Deena's mother was actually from a kibbutz, or just a plain woman, an outlier in the decadence of Tel Aviv in the eighties.

"Motherhood," Leyla huffed. "It is not supposed to be done alone."

It takes a village, Ziva had read in all those books. When motherhood was so abstract that it could be studied.

It takes a village, Ziva's doctor had asked, at the six week appointment, trying to uncover if Ziva had support.

It takes a village, Senior had said that morning, when he plucked Talia from Ziva's arms, so Ziva could shower. Ziva had thanked him so profusely that his face had flushed red.

"Is that why you are here?" Ziva asked.

Leyla blinked a couple of times. Another tear fell down her face.

"I was," Leyla said. "In the neighbourhood. That is what they say."

Leyla had moved out to Falls Church, when Amira became too old for them to be sharing a one-bedroom apartment. Leyla wanted a home that was still close to the city, she wanted to be able to drive to the Middle Eastern market without turning it into a trip. She also wanted to be close to the organisation she had founded, which had its community house in Silver Spring.

"Many of Amira's friends live around here," Leyla declared.

Leyla spent more money that she would have liked on a private school for Amira. One which clad the child in a uniform with a pleated skirt, and vest over a blouse. One that prided itself on being inclusive and multicultural, but Amira was still one of the few non-white students in her classes.

"She is at a sleepover," Leyla continued. The word sleepover was a new word, Ziva could tell, but the way Leyla dragged out the word, and how her mouth hung open for just a second after she had finished.

The baby drooled. Leyla reached up, and tenderly wiped Talia's tiny face with her finger.

Ziva tried to remember how old Amira was now.

Ten. Double digits.

She had seemed so big, when Ziva had last seen her at Talia's Brit Bat. So big, especially compared to tiny Talia.

Amira had just had a birthday, when they were gathered to celebrate the newly arrived Talia.

Amira had been just shy of two, when Ziva met her for the first time. She remembered those peaceful eyes. Eyes that had only known love. Only known safety.

In those cool autumn days, not yet three months after Ziva had been dragged from the desert, still harbouring a death wish, and Ziva had needed to see those peaceful eyes. To be reminded that there was good in the world.

Amira had been three when Ziva saw her again. She was bigger, and more of her personality had come through. Ziva and Leyla had spent some time together that summer, Ziva perhaps wanting to make amends for missing Mike Franks funeral. Even now, Ziva could not quite articulate why, she had missed it. That morning, she had pulled the covers over her, and cried. Cried for Mike. Cried for the mess she had made of her life.

That summer, Ziva had taken it upon herself to show Leyla how to navigate D.C. One day, when Leyla was in the book store that sold translated books, Ziva had taken a fussy Amira out of the store. Her tiny fingers had wrapped in Ziva's hand, as Ziva talked to tiny child about the books she had brought.

They almost could have been mistaken for mother and daughter. Perhaps by a less worldly person they might have been.

For a second, as Ziva babbled about the books she had brought, Ziva had started to imagine children of her own. At that point, she had imagined them as Ray's children. Yet, when she imagined tiny hands, and little curls, it was always just her in the picture. Never Ray.

Now, Amira was grown, and Ziva had a baby.

A baby who she could barely imagine as a ten year old.

Would she be loud and boisterous?

Or studious and quiet?

Ziva wondered how she would be in ten years.

Worn out. Exhausted. Still so lost.

"I made the klechia for her," Leyla said, as she touched the baby's chubby wrist. "She said the other girls parents gave them sweet treats. I thought that because it was her first sleepover, I should make it special. Klechia is her favourite, there was a time where she would beg me to make it for her every weekend. Before, we got to her friend's house, she insisted that I drive to a supermarket and buy some cookies. She told me klechia was yuck."

Ziva's chest heaved.

Motherhood broke your heart, whether the baby was seven weeks old, or closer to seven hundred weeks old.

"I know this is her friends," Leyla said softly. "I know that this is her age. If I had acted like she had, I would have been punished. I brought her here, so she would not know that life. So she would not suffer."

Ziva offered her hand to Leyla.

Would this be a fight she had with Talia in a decade. Over tahini cookies instead of klechia.

How quickly she had gone from the comforted to the comforter.

Was this motherhood. Sharing burdens. Burdens that nobody else understood.

Leyla squeezed her hand.

"Her life is one of peace," Leyla said. "That is all I wanted for her, for her to know peace."

Ziva nodded.

She wanted Talia to know safety. To know peace. To know love.

She had to keep Talia safe.

The baby stirred.

Ziva's chest ached. Talia would wake soon. Needing to feed.

Ziva moved her hand and rubbed her chest. They were heavy, and red. The infection, was going away with the antibiotics as promised, but the feelings of failure lingered.

 _Fed is best_ , Ziva's doctor had touted at the six week appointment as Ziva detailed the struggles she and Talia had.

Tony too, had started to reach for bottles when Talia fussed. There was milk unearthed from the freezer in the basement, to make it easier for her.

Leyla looked down at the baby.

"When does it get easier?" Ziva asked.

Leyla looked back at Ziva.

"Soon," Leyla declared. "Each two weeks one part of it gets a little easier. You get into a routine, and she will sleep for longer. Breastfeeding will get easier, especially when she nurses less. Each day it will get better."

Soon.

Ziva had to hang onto the soon.

Talia was starting to get into a routine. She slept for longer periods. Until, the infection, breastfeeding had been improving.

 _Things will be easier when she is vaccinated_ , Ziva had told her doctor during the six week check-up earlier that week.

Talia's two month well baby check was in less than a week.

Ziva could take the baby out then.

Ziva always felt better when she went outside. There had been a time once, where she was trapped inside. In a dusty cell.

Yet, even when Tony or Senior took the baby from her and commanded that she took some time for herself, she did not go outside. Even though she trusted Tony with her life, and their daughter, she could not leave her baby. She could not leave the house.

The house was safe.

She had to keep her baby safe.

"Soon," Ziva echoed.

 _I'm not going to lie Ziva_ , her doctor had said, during that six week appointment. While Tony and Talia were outside in the hallway. _You're flagged as someone who is at high risk of postpartum depression._

The past is not past.

Her doctor had listed off reasons why Ziva was at risk; past trauma, traumatic birth, previous miscarriage, and a limited support network.

Ziva's face had flashed red, in that tiny windowless exam room.

She had lied on the postpartum depression survey. Telling her doctor that she was sleeping well, eating more than enough, and had no intrusive thoughts.

She would not let her past dictate her future.

She had changed her destiny so many times.

Her doctor had seemed surprised as she scored the questionnaire.

Ziva had always been good at tests. She had always known how to pass tests.

Her body ached. Her sleep was fitful. She barely ate, but she could not tell her doctor that.

Ziva was flagged as risk. If she admitted the truth. They might take her baby.

How would she keep Talia safe then?

She had to keep Talia safe.

It did not matter how much Ziva lost of herself. She had to keep her baby safe.

Her doctor had talked about all the signs Ziva had to watch out for, and given her a leaflet to give Tony.

Ziva's eyes had fixed on the chart, which listed the differences between baby blues and postpartum depression.

 _I think I had the baby blues,_ Ziva said to her doctor. _But, I am fine now_.

Ziva's doctor had been satisfied by that.

So had Tony, when she told him.

 _I was so worried_ , he had told her on the way home. _You were so quiet. I didn't know what to say._

Tony had been so easy to convince.

 _You're okay now,_ Tony had said, as they navigated the drive home. _You're okay, right._

Ziva was a liar.

Liar, liar pants on fire.

But, she knew the storm would pass eventually.

Leyla said things would get easier soon. She trusted Leyla. Leyla had weathered this storm, with even less people to help her steer the boat in the stormy sea.

Soon.

She clung tightly onto soon.

The baby woke. Opening her eyes with a startle. She started to whimper. Then opened her mouth. She licked her lips, and stuck her tongue out. Her hands moved to her mouth.

Leyla looked down at the baby, and picked her up from her lap.

"I guess that's my cue to make the tea," Leyla said, with a smile.

Leyla could do so much, but she could not help with this.

Ziva pulled down her stained nursing shirt, and unclasped the nursing bra. For something meant to be undone, while holding the baby, the clasp was hard to open with one hand.

"You are a good mother," Leyla declared, as she handed the baby to Ziva. "I know it does not feel like that right now, but I promise you, you are."

Ziva felt tears prick her eyes, as the baby latched.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Thank you so much for all the love.

This chapter has been a victim of the perfection gremlins, and has been rewritten like three times. Please be kind.

Also, I'm aware the notes like the ones at the top of the chapter, should have been on the three previous ones. Apologies.

As someone who has their own mental health struggles, though nothing a potentially serious as postpartum depression, one of lies you can tell yourself is that you just need time, that other people have it worse, and try and will away the pain. Yet, those days can feel endless. Ziva's road to peace still has a few more turns.

Next chapter shall concern the three day trip Tony has to take for work, and start to reveal where the team have been, during all of this.

Next chapter will be up next week.


	32. Here Comes The Rain

Ziva woke slowly. She took a few careful seconds to situate herself. She was in her bedroom, where she spent most of her time. She looked toward the co-sleeper, it was empty. Ziva turned to the other side of the room, and saw Tony walking up and down between the ensuite and his side of the bed. Talia was in his arms. She was happy. Talia was always happy in Tony's arms.

Talia was safe.

Ziva had to keep her baby safe.

"Daddy loves you," Tony said, his voice was syrupy sweet, like it was always was when he spoke to the baby. "So, so much. More than the whole wide world."

Ziva blinked a few times and slowly pulled herself up in the bed. The sheets were musty, and had a faint whiff of sour breast milk. She had only washed the sheets a few days ago.

They were in their bedroom. A room that had once been Tony and Ziva's bedroom, but now was a family bedroom.

Two had become three.

Not that any of the occupants got much sleep.

Talia was still basically nocturnal, but she was starting to sleep for longer periods.

Things will get better, everyone said.

"Daddy is going to miss you," Tony said again."So much."

Ziva studied the chaos of their bedroom. Tony's weekender bag was in the doorway, as a makeshift doorstop. There was harsh light streaming through. That awful bright light that hung above the stairs, and neither of them had bothered to try to change it.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Tony said. He was holding the baby, wrapped in that blanket with the lemon print. Ziva's favourite blanket. Her little curls stood up. "Look baby, it's Ima."

Ziva blinked at her daughter. Her tiny lips, dark eyes, and perfect little curls.

Talia was beautiful.

Ziva had made something so beautiful.

Ziva had made something so pure and innocent.

Talia was too pure and innocent for Ziva.

"Dad's here," Tony said, softly, as he rubbed the baby's back. "We need to get on the road soon."

Ziva pulled her knees up to her chest, dragging the duvet with her. Tony had changed to the lighter summer duvet the week before, after weeks of sweating through the winter one.

Talia's white noise machine whirred in the corner.

At Talia's two month well-child appointment the doctor had run through a list of options to try to get Talia to sleep for longer periods, and in the cosleeper rather than on her parents. They were supposed to put Talia down before she was actually asleep. The white noise machine was supposed to keep her asleep.

The doctor, who'd had a Patagonia fleece hanging off her chair had suggested co-sleeping in the bed. So that Talia could reach out for her parents at night, to self-soothe.

Ziva had let out a firm no before the doctor had finished her sentence.

What if she squashed the baby?

What if she hurt her baby?

Ziva had to keep her baby safe, even from herself.

What if she hurt her baby?

"Right,". Ziva said.

She looked out the window, trying to gage the time of day. The sun was up, but still low.

Tony moved across the room, with an extra bounce in his step. He was holding Talia tight.

Ziva grabbed her phone off the charger. It was still so early.

Tony's flight was at ten.

He needed to get on the road soon. The traffic around Regan was murder at this time of day.

"She slept right through, after the three am feed," Tony declared, wearing his smile. "You both did."

Maybe she was getting better.

She had filled out the postpartum depression questionnaire three times now, and bluffed her way through it like a pro. She had learnt how to fill out psychological questionnaires after that summer. Ziva had bluffed her way through those, so afraid that she would not be given her badge.

How things had changed.

How quickly that badge had started to burn her hands.

Ziva was fine. The storm was passing, just like she had promised Tony.

Talia was sleeping for longer now. So was Ziva.

Talia and Ziva managed to get a good latch nine times out of ten.

Like Leyla had promised this would get better. Each week it would get a tiny bit better.

The worrying thoughts, were just a part of motherhood. Ziva would worry about Talia until her last breath.

Tony slowly lowered himself onto the bed, with Talia happy in his arms. Talia was happy, her vice like grip on his finger.

"I know this isn't the best time for me to be going away," Tony said, as he reached over to pat her knee.

She would rather both hands be on the baby.

The three day trip he was going on was hardly a vacation. It was a work trip to Glynco, which was hardly a holiday hot spot.

The trip was one she knew he had tried to get out of. He had told her that, when he announced the trip, explaining all the different things he had done to try and get out of it.

"We will be fine," she said softly. She winced as she said, we.

How could she speak for both her and Talia, now that Talia was on the outside?

How could she know Talia would be okay?

"I know," Tony said softly. "You'll be good for Ima, won't you Talia?"

She had told him about what she had called the baby blues on the car journey home from her six week check-up.

His face had fallen, as his hands reached out for her. The cars zoomed past.

Ziva had told Tony that it was just the drop in hormones, that had caused the low mood, and occasional tearful episodes.

Just like the hair loss, she had said, as if her moods were a minor inconvenience like the hair loss had been.

Her hair was still a mess, which had made Ziva understand why Breena had cut her hair after Tori was born.

The McWedding was just over six weeks away, Ziva wondered if she would be presentable by then.

 _I was so worried_ , Tony had whispered. His eyes were glassy. _I didn't know how to help_.

Ziva had felt her own eyes prick. She hated to hurt him.

She had made vows promising never to hurt him.

She had made promises to never lie to him.

 _We just had to get through the storm,_ Ziva had told him. _Now, it is over._

The things she had told Tony, had been a lie. She told herself it was a white lie, but it felt bigger.

She had decided she would will herself to be better.

These feelings would pass.

Soon Leyla had promised, and Ziva had believed her.

Soon, Ziva would be the mother Talia deserved.

Soon. Soon.

She had to hang onto the promise of soon.

"I made up the couch in the basement," Tony declared.

Ziva frowned.

Even though Ziva had told Tony she was fine, he still hovered too close.

Expecting her to crack.

 _You're okay, right?_ He would ask tentatively every day, when he came home from work.

 _Just tired_ , had been her default response for days now, as she handed Tony the baby, for his always calmed right down, when Tony held her.

 _You sure your okay_ , he would ask later, when she came downstairs after her shower, and having pretended to nap.

 _Fine_ , came her response.

These lies were getting exhausting.

Maybe the lies were not as convincing as Ziva first thought.

He always could see right through her.

"For Dad," Tony added. "The sleeper sofa isn't the best, but Dad said it would be okay."

The basement had been sound proofed, because Tony had wanted to turn it into a movie room.

They had learnt just how sound proof it was, once Talia had been born. Tony had gone down to the basement to get something out of the storage room, and fallen asleep during Talia's witching hour, where she screamed for a good twenty minutes.

"He has a bed in his apartment," Ziva declared.

She did not need a babysitter.

Tony looked at her.

"I know," he said, his eyes fixed on the baby. "But, he really shouldn't drive at night. Besides, I like the thought of him being here."

There was an idiom about eggshells, but Ziva could not think of the full sentence.

She was too tired.

She offered her arms out to take the baby.

Tony held the baby closer. Tighter.

"Just a few more minutes," he whispered, as he placed a kiss on Talia's head. "Three days is a long time, for all of us."

Ziva reached out to touch the baby. Stroking her soft skin.

There was noise on the stairs. Senior had a heavy tread.

Ziva tugged at her sleep shirt.

She felt gross, and was sure she smelt. Compared to Tony in his business casual, with his minty fresh breath, she was a mess.

Everything in the last two months had been a mess.

"Junior," Senior said, standing in the doorway. "We need to get going. We definitely won't have time for coffee."

Ziva pulled the duvet over her. Needing to hide herself.

She and Senior were close, and Senior had seen her in many levels of grossness, including less than twenty four hours than she had given birth to Talia, but today it felt like too much.

Everything felt too much.

Tony was going to be away for so long.

He was going to be so far away.

There was also a not so bad feeling that was building in her gut.

"I know," Tony whined.

For a second Ziva imagined Tony as a sullen teenager, and Senior as the harried suburban single Dad, trying to get his son to school. It was a scene from a childhood that Tony had never had.

He pressed another kiss into Talia's head.

Senior nodded, and picked up Tony's bag delicately. Sometimes Ziva forgot Senior was old. The type of man who needed to be careful with how he lifted things.

"I'll put some tea on for you Sweetheart" Senior said, directing his voice to Ziva. He had the same DiNozzo grin.

Would Talia inherit the same smile?

"Thank you," Ziva said.

Senior slunk down the stairs, making

"Daddy has to go now," Tony whispered to Talia, still in that sing-songy voice "I'm going to miss you."

Ziva had always known Tony would be the soppy Dad. It had taken them so long to get here.

They had designed their lives around this baby, when she was just a happy thought. A someday. They wanted to be the parents who went to every soccer game and dance recital. They wanted to bicker over bathtime, and share bedtime stories. They would be happy. Their little house would be filled with laughter and love.

Tony was happy. Deliriously happy. Ever since Talia was born, Tony had been deliriously and sickeningly happy.

Ziva was trying. She was trying so hard to be happy.

But, everything felt heavy. She was lost. She had lost her old life.

She had given up her job for this baby.

She had given up her body for this baby.

She had given up everything for this baby.

"And, when I get back," Tony announced, his voice softening out from the sing-songy voice he used with Talia. "We'll have four whole days together."

Ziva knew about this plan, for Tony to take the rest of the week off, when he told her about the trip.

"I'll give your Ima a break," Tony said softly. "Maybe we could all go on an adventure, make the most of the long weekend."

Talia had been vaccinated, and Ziva had lost her defense, when Tony wanted to take them out.

She had found herself becoming more of a homebody as she built a more peaceful life, but since the baby had been born, she had become all but agoraphobic.

Home was safe.

At home she was in control.

At home she could keep the baby safe. She had to keep her baby safe.

"Maybe," Ziva said with a shrug. "She does not like the car seat."

Tony nodded.

"We'll see how we go," he said, his eyes fixed on the baby. "Maybe we could go out to where we got married, show her where she was made."

Ziva screwed up her face.

They loved the Shenandoah valley, and had spent many long weekends there escaping from the world.

It was beautiful, and felt so far from the city, even if it was close enough to make a day trip.

Now, it felt too far from home.

"She was not conceived there," Ziva declared, with a half smile. "She was likely conceived here."

She waved her hand around the room. Tony smirked. His face flushed red.

Ziva realised it had been nearly a year since Talia had been conceived, on a day where Ziva's fertility app had flashed with a smiley face encouraging her to get busy. The app had given Ziva, that instruction for eight months, and Ziva had started to lose hope.

Then it happened.

So much had changed in a year.

Everything had changed.

"I know," he said softly, the blush starting to fade. "But, it's nice there. We should show her. Besides, when we went there for our anniversary, that we really started to talk about her. She felt more real then."

The trip for their September anniversary, had been after the pregnancy had been announced to their wider circle. After, Ziva had survived a nauseated first trimester, and finally started to believe that this baby would stick around.

They had spent that whole weekend, celebrating their first year of marriage, talking about the baby. Deciding whether to find out the sex before she was born. Deciding to raise the baby Jewishly. Imagining her tiny fingers and toes. The baby had become more real for Ziva then too.

Ziva reached out for the baby.

"Maybe," she said with a noncommittal shrug.

She had to get through these next few days first.

One day at a time.

"Or we could go to the beach," Tony said. "Babies like the beach, right?"

Ziva did not want to know what she looked like in a bathing suit.

She had never been one of those women who obsessed over the size on a label, or a number on the scale, but the pregnancy and the weight gain had turned into one. Everything in her wardrobe, that she could actually wear had an elastic waistband or was a size up from what he usually wore. She was a mess.

"We will play it by ear," she said. "That is the saying, yes?"

Her gave her a nod, and flashed her his thousand-watt grin.

Tony handed her the baby. The baby was heavy in Ziva's arms.

"I'm really gonna miss you two," he said. "My girls."

Ziva looked at him. His happiness was sickening.

How had he taken all of this in stride?

He was such a good father.

"We will miss you too," Ziva declared.

Tony placed a kiss on Talia's head.

The baby started to fuss. Ziva knew that she would not have long before Talia lost it.

"This is really hard," he said, his voice cracking.

He pressed a kiss onto Ziva's cheek.

Ziva felt a lip quiver. Tony rose from the bed.

"Text me when you land," Ziva said.

She had been better lately, but the dark thoughts still ran rampant.

Planes crash. Tony's plane could crash. Ziva could be left a widow, with a tiny baby, who would never know her father.

Plane crashes had been her latest google habit, since Tony had shown her his itinerary.

Sometimes, she would murmur the same airplane safety instructions she heard on every flight, while Talia started to fall asleep.

She could not lose Tony.

She had already lost so much. Too much.

"Junior," Senior called up the stairs. "We're gonna be late."

Tony got up, and walked to the door.

He turned back to look at Ziva and Talia.

Ziva picked up Talia's hand and made her wave.

Tony gave her a watery smile.

This was not about, Talia.

It was about Tony, left in the hotel room in Maui. Just ten years old, and not knowing when his father would be back.

It was about Ziva dancing on stage, looking out for her father, and finding an empty chair with a reserved sign, between Ziva's mother and Aunt Nettie.

They had promised they would not make their parents mistakes.

There was an idiom about apples and trees.

Tony had fallen far from the tree, but he still did not quite believe it.

"Bye," Tony coughed. "I love you."

Ziva smiled.

"I love you," Ziva said softly. "We love you."

Tony smiled, and waved at the baby.

"Junior," Senior called again. He sounded so old.

Tony walked through the door, and closed it, but it did not shut completely.

Ziva sucked in a heavy breath.

She waited for the front door to close.

She slowly got up, holding Talia tight, her hand on her head.

Out of the front window she watched as Senior's little car belted it out of the driveway.

A ball of anxiety had been building in her since she had woken up. Her stomach bubbled.

Something bad was going to happen.

Senior was old. The news always had stories of old drivers who misjudged the accelerator and the brake, or had a medical episode.

Ziva felt her eyes well up. Tears pricked them and fell down her face.

Talia started to fuss.

Ziva sucked in a deep breath.

Fake it until you make it, that had been Ziva's mantra, long before she became a mother.

She had faked it until she made it, when she first came back from Africa. When her body felt strange. When her nights were haunted. When she did not know if she could trust herself.

She would fake being a good mother, a happy mother, until it was true.

Soon it would be true.

Leyla had promised her that soon it would get better.

She clung to that soon. So tight.

Talia's whimpers got louder, and Ziva sunk her teeth into lip, so that she would not cry too.

* * *

There was the shrill ring of a phone, when she woke next. The sun had gotten higher into the sky. The sky was blue, and clear, just like the weather forecast had promised.

Maybe, she would take Talia on a little walk around the block. Good mothers, left the house.

Her eyes were heavy. Her head hurt.

Talia was in the bed next to her. Very close to her.

Ziva felt her heart leap into her mouth.

The baby was so close. Her little hands were balled into fists. Her tiny nostrils flared.

Ziva had been adamant that she did not want to co-sleep.

The baby was so small. Ziva was so big.

What if she squashed her baby?

What if she hurt her baby?

She would never forgive herself.

The ringing continued.

Ziva watched the tiny breaths from Talia's little chest.

Talia was okay.

The baby started to stir.

Ziva reached behind her and pulled her phone from the charger.

Tony had said he would text when he landed, had he decided to call instead. He always said texting took too long.

Tim's name flashed on the screen, as well as a photo of him from years ago from Abby's ugly Christmas sweater party.

Ziva pulled the phone icon across the screen to accept the call.

Ziva touched the baby's soft arm, running her finger down her soft skin. The baby was the right colour. Not too pale. Not too red. Talia was okay.

"Ziva," McGee said. His voice was heavy.

Something bad had happened, Ziva just knew it.

"Hello Tim," Ziva said.

That bad feeling bubbled in her.

"Is Tony with you?" Tim asked. His voice was hoarse.

It had been weeks since Ziva had seen the team.

They had playing the long game with a case. A drug cartel was recruiting young marines, often from difficult backgrounds, using a gym as a front, to pedal drugs. In the two months the team had been investigating the case, there had already been four deaths.

Ellie and not-so-new-guy Nick had been sent undercover. Gibbs had expected hundred hour weeks from his team, including Abby and Jimmy.

Ziva had not seen any of them since Talia's Brit Bat, and even then all of them wore the familiar exhaustion of a long case.

Ziva had almost been glad for the distance. She did not have the energy for social interaction.

"He is en route to Glynco," Ziva said.

Glynco felt so far away.

Tony felt so far away.

Too far away.

"Oh," McGee said. "That explains it."

Ziva looked down at the baby.

Ziva felt that pull in her stomach.

Something bad had happened.

"What has happened?" Ziva asked. Her voice was urgent.

She had lost too many people to expect anything less than the worst.

She loved too many people who ran into the fire, rather than away from it.

"Who?" She asked quickly, not giving McGee long enough to answer.

She knew it could not be Tony, she was his next of kin, the one who would get the call.

Still, she had not received Tony's promised message.

Did his plane fall from the sky?

It could not be Senior, she decided. She was the second on the phone tree to be contacted if something happened, and Tony was unavailable.

She was not sure if Senior was back yet.

Had his foot slipped on the brake?

The baby stirred. Ziva watched as her little chest rose and fell.

At least she was okay.

Ziva did not know what she would do if something happened to Talia.

"Gibbs," McGee finally said, his voice was cracking. "He was shot. He's in surgery now."

Ziva's chest ached.

Ziva barely noticed the tears that slipped down her face.

The closest thing she had to a father.

She could not lose him too.

"What-," Ziva stammered. "What happened?"

McGee was quiet on the other end.

Ziva held the baby's wrist. The baby whimpered.

"I wasn't there," McGee declared, his voice cracking "I don't know exactly."

Ziva's mouth dried.

"What?" She asked.

It didn't make sense. They were a team. They ran into the fire together.

On your six.

Got your back.

No man left behind.

How had Tim not been there?

"I," McGee stammered. "I had to take a personal day. It was urgent. If I'd have known."

Ziva felt rage rise through. Her face burned red.

Her mouth dried.

Had McGee been doing wedding planning, while the others risked life and limb.

She would never have done that. When she was in the team, she had sacrificed so much of her personal life for the team.

She looked to the baby, who was still asleep.

She swallowed thickly, and squashed the rage.

She had left. Long ago. She had chosen a life of peace.

Would this have still happened if Ziva had been there?

Would Talia have still happened if Ziva had still been in the team?

She had to let his go.

"Was anyone else hurt?" Ziva asked.

She knew too many people who ran into the fire.

Ziva rubbed the baby's tummy. The baby kicked out.

"Nick's a bit beat up," McGee reported. His voice was neutral. "Ellie's spooked, but Gibbs is the only one who was hurt badly."

She could not lose Gibbs. She had lost so many people.

It hadn't even been a year since she lost Schmeil.

So much had changed in a year.

"What have the doctors told you?" Ziva interrupted.

Ziva tried to remember who was Gibbs' next of kin.

It had been Jackson until his death.

She remembered a conversation with Gibbs during that summer, where he wanted somebody who was close but not in the team. Ziva had been on the list.

Would she be asked to make decisions?

"We can talk to them, when you get here," McGee said. "Together."

Ziva ran a finger along the baby's cheek.

She was so small.

So perfect.

She had to be protected.

"I cannot come to the hospital," Ziva said quickly. "I have Talia."

She could not leave the house.

Outside was dangerous. Bad things happened outside.

Home was safe.

She had to keep the baby safe.

McGee let out a heavy breath.

"Right," he said, "Isn't she vaccinated now?*

Ziva bit her lip to hold in her words.

Tim didn't get it. He was not a parent.

"Yes," Ziva said. "But, the ICU is no place for a baby."

The baby started to stir.

Ziva had to keep her safe.

"Right," McGee stammered. "Of course."

"And, Tony is in Glynco," Ziva said quickly.

Tony was so far away.

Too far away.

"Can you leave her with Senior?" McGee asked. "Abby likes the idea of us all being together."

Abby was the emotional center of their family.

Abby needed everyone within arms reach.

 _Group hug_ , Ziva could hear in Abby's voice.

Ziva could smell the antiseptic of hospital, and taste acidic hospital coffee.

"No," Ziva said quickly. She could not, and would not leave her baby. "You will keep me updated, yes?"

McGee let out a sigh.

The baby started to whimper.

"Of course," McGee said.

Ziva looked to the baby. At her tiny little hands balled into fists.

"He will be okay," Ziva declared. Willing it into the universe. "He has to be."

Her voice shook, the mask was slipping.

The closest thing she had to a father, was in an operating room. Adding another battle scar to his battered body.

"Ziva," McGee said, after a few quiet seconds. "It's not like last time. He was awake until they took him into surgery."

Ziva felt a tear slip down her face.

Last time Gibbs had been so seriously hurt, still left its scars, not only on Gibbs, but in the team.

It had been during her first year in the team, when Ziva was still getting used to each other.

Ziva's cheek burned red as she remembered Abby's slap, when the stress got too much. She remembered sobbing in the bathroom.

His past had come crashing into his present.

 _Ari killed Kate, and I killed Ari,_ Ziva had said, to try and get his memory back, after a light head slap.

 _He was your brother_.

"Good," Ziva said. "You will let me know when he is out?"

If he made it through.

Her father had been shot, and he did not even make it to surgery. Jackie Vance, had made it to surgery, only to die on the table.

She knew so many people who had not come home.

Ziva could not face another funeral.

"Of course," McGee said softly.

Talia's whimper became more urgent.

Ziva felt a pang in her chest.

"I need to go," Ziva said, feeling pulled in two places. "The baby needs me."

The baby opened her eyes and let out a squeak.

"Of course," McGee said. "Right."

Ziva scanned the room.

This was all her fault.

She knew something bad was going to happen, and had not said a thing.

"He's going to be okay," McGee said, his voice desperate. "He has to be, its Gibbs."

Ziva licked her lips, and tried to banish her tears.

Everything felt wrong.

"Yes," Ziva said. "Goodbye Tim."

Talia let out another squeak.

"Bye Ziva," he said. "Talk soon."

The line went dead.

Ziva dumped the phone on the nightstand and rushed to pick up the baby. Ziva pressed the baby close to her chest.

Talia cried. Ziva cried. Loud sobs echoed through the bedroom.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Fear not dear friends, Tony totally knows Ziva hasn't told him the whole truth, Gibbs will live another day, and McGee will have a good reason for not being there when Gibbs was shot. We're going to have a couple of chapters from Tony's point of view, and answer some questions. Tony and Ziva are still the main players in this show. Ziva is still in the process of healing.

Thank you so much for all of the kind words, and love for this fic.

Next chapter will be up next week.


	33. Six Hundred and Thirty Miles Away

The two people Tony loved the most were in a tiny square on Tony's cellphone. And, Tony could barely see them.

All Tony could see was the teal colored sling, they often wrapped the baby in, and a slither of Ziva's tired T-shirt. He was pretty sure it was the same one she had been sleeping in two days ago.

His chest ached.

He felt so far away.

He was so far away.

630 miles away according to a certain all knowing search engine.

"I think," Ziva said, her words distant.

Quickly, the video disappeared from his phone.

His heart sunk.

"Can we just talk?" Ziva said, her voice was distorted by the speaker phone. "The video is too hard. Talia only just fell asleep, I do not want to wake her."

Tony put the phone to his ear.

"Okay," he said. "I just really wanted to see you."

His words were a whine. He had wanted so badly to see her face. To check-in.

On Ziva, more than the baby.

Ziva was good at hiding things, but he had known her for over a decade, he knew her tells.

He knew she was not as okay, as she said she was.

"Sorry," Ziva said. Her voice so small.

Tony sucked in a breath.

He was so far away.

From the moment he woke up the day before Tony had been struck with a bad feeling. His gut had ached, like it used to when he worked cases.

It was that bad feeling that had kept Tony in his and Ziva's musty bedroom. He wanted to stay in his safe little bubble forever. He needed to protect his family.

Talia was so small.

Ziva was so fragile, not that she would ever admit it.

Tony was going so far away.

"It's okay," he whispered. "I'm just glad to hear your voice."

The car ride to the airport had been stressful. Senior had been living in DC for nearly two years, but had managed to avoid rush hour traffic. Senior had filled the car journey with tales of flights narrowly caught, and flights missed.

Tony had barely listened. Worry ran through him like waves.

 _I need you to keep an eye on Ziva_ , Tony had announced, as they took the turn off for the airport. _She's still so-_

Tony had not really found a way to describe Ziva's mood since the baby had been born. Mostly, because it was so prone to change. Ziva had been elated when Talia had been born, but the joy had slipped away, as Ziva struggled with breastfeeding and sleep deprivation.

All the books, blogs, and website Tony had consulted had promised the storm would pass, once Ziva's hormones had stabilized.

Ziva had said the same thing, after her six week appointment.

The baby blues, sounded like a band name.

The storm has passed, she said as they drove home.

He had always been able to see through her lies.

But, he had wanted to believe her. So badly.

How could the same thing that had brought Tony so much joy, have caused such distress in Ziva.

He loved Talia so much. It was a whole new kind of love, just like the books promised.

"When do you get back?" Ziva asked.

Not soon enough, he thought.

He had been sitting in a too small airplane seat when Gibbs had been shot.

He had been flicking through the well-thumbed in flight magazine, reading about the food scene in Savannah Georgia. He had been thinking about how Ziva liked little towns with colonial architecture. He had been wondering if he should take Ziva and the baby away on one of the long weekends that punctuated the summer.

That was all the needed, he had told himself. The three of them would go away. He and Ziva would finally talk. All would be resolved, by the time they reached their driveway. Everything would be better.

If only things were so easy, like it was in the movies.

Then when he walked through Jacksonville airport, his weekender bag on his shoulder, dodging retirees, and trying to follow his fast walking colleagues to the shuttle to Glynco, when every changed. He had taken his phone off airplane mode, and been greeted by almost a dozen missed calls.

Four from Ziva, three from Abby and three from McGee.

There was twice as many texts, also seeking his attention.

Something bad had happened.

He had stopped in the middle of the terminal. His stop had been so sudden that he was nearly run over by a wheelie suitcase being driven by a retiree wearing all white.

He had not bothered to listen to the voicemails or read the texts. Everything felt too urgent.

Ziva had been her first call, but she had gone to voicemail. Ziva was always his first call.

Tony had considered calling Senior, but he had not called Tony. Tony had wondered if Senior was the cause of the emergency.

Then as he listened, to Ziva's voicemail once she had recorded years ago, when she chose her path to peace, he had wondered if Talia was the subject of the emergency. The baby was so small. Ziva was so protective. There was so much that could go wrong.

McGee had answered after two rings, and wasted no time.

Gibbs had been shot, and was in surgery, McGee announced, the words well rehearsed. On paper Gibbs was an orphan, a widower, and a thrice divorcee, but in reality there had been so many people to call. The waiting room in Bethesda would be full of people.

Tony had then pivoted, heading back to the terminal, intending to get on the next plane.

He had to get home.

McGee had explained calmly that Gibbs was in surgery. He had been conscious until they put him under, and have even made a joke with the paramedics as they loaded Gibbs into the ambulance. The bullets were lodged in his aged knee and shoulders.

It was not life threatening.

Tony still felt so far away.

So far away from all of his family.

Eventually, after McGee had assured him that Gibbs was not going anywhere, Tony had turned again and rushed to the shuttle bound to Glynco. His new colleagues waiting, and wearing heavy frowns.

The air in the South was hot, far hotter than DC, and served only to remind Tony just how far away he was.

He had spent the seventy mile drive trying to call Ziva, but the reception had dropped out.

Two cups. Family and work.

Both needed his attention at exactly the same time.

He had actually been excited for the curriculum collaboration conference, about finally bring Fletc into the twenty-first century with more online content. Tony had also been excited at the prospect of expanding the Cheltenham campus. The main job of the Maryland campus, was for re-certification. The previous year, Tony had been part of a pilot program, where newer students spent three days a week on campus, and the other two in their placements.

Now, none of that mattered, he spent the conference distracted.

Family came first, and he was over six hundred and thirty miles away from his.

"About this time tomorrow," he said. "I'll send you the itinerary."

Tony missed his wife.

Tony missed his daughter.

He wanted to check-in on Gibbs.

"Send it to your father," Ziva said "He is going to pick you up."

Tony frowned. Senior had become the glue that had held their house of cards together. He had volunteered for laundry duty, and kept then fed. Now, Senior's role extended to taxi driver.

Yet, every so often Tony's mind drifted to that Maui hotel room. Tony could remember every inch of it. The wooden paneling, and plastic tropical plants. The do not disturb sign Senior had placed on the door, so a maid would not discover the unsupervised child. The abandonment had been premeditated.

He had been ten. Ten years old. Still a child.

A leopard did not change his spots.

Maybe, Senior was the exception to the rule.

"Okay," he said. "We should get him some wine or something. He's been such a help."

Ziva was quiet on the other end.

Tony knew, Ziva wasn't thinking about what wine to gift Senior.

This quietness had been their lives for the last two months.

The last time she had been this quiet, had been when she first came back from Africa.

For weeks she had been adrift, and he had not known how to get to her.

"Yes," she said. Her voice was distant.

She had gone out to sea again.

She was getting caught in the fog.

He wasn't sure he would be able to get to her.

"How are you guys?" He asked.

Ziva could hide behind the baby. The baby's mood could explain hers. The baby was between them, creating distance. They were a line, with Talia being the link.

They were supposed to be a triangle, with Talia at the apex. Tony and Ziva joined together, and funnelling all their love into Talia.

Talia would know nothing but love.

"Tired," Ziva said, offering another one word answers.

Tony stewed. Sweat ran down his face. Glynco was stinking hot.

"Guess that six straight hours of sleep the other day was a fluke," Tony said.

He meant both Ziva and Talia.

Neither of them slept well.

Talia because that was what babies did.

Ziva because of the rip tide that was pulling us under.

"I think so," Ziva whispered.

A three word sentence that was progress. Tony would take progress.

"Is Dad looking after you guys?" Tony asked.

Senior had been better at keeping Tony in the loop. He had sent a photo of every meal he had cooked for Ziva, and said that everything was as well as could be expected.

 _Do you think Ziva-,_ Tony had tried to ask on the rushed car ride to the airport. He had not known how to phrase it. _Is okay?_ He had finally stammered.

What was 'okay' now, anyway?

Having the baby had been as life changing as the books and the movies promised.

His house was the same. His job was the same. Yet, everything was different.

 _She's just tired_ , Senior said.

But, she wasn't just tired.

Senior did not know what he was looking at. Senior did not know Ziva's past, which even Tony did not the full extent of. Ziva was a woman of secrets, and he had made peace with not knowing all of them.

They had built a life in the present, focusing on the future, and leaving the past behind.

Senior did not know the day-to-day care of an infant, and the energy it sapped from the parents. Baby Tony had been his mother's responsibility alone, and then pawned off go a night.

Still Tony wondered if he was making a mountain out of a molehill.

If the storm had passed.

"Yes," she said.

And, with that she was back to single word answers.

Progress was so seldom linear.

Tony frowned.

"Good," he said. "I saw the frittata he made, he's never makes anything that good for me."

Ziva was quiet again.

Tony's chest ached.

He was so far away.

Too far away.

Six hundred and thirty goddamn miles.

"Have you spoken to Gibbs?" Ziva asked, after a few excruciating seconds of quiet.

When had it gotten so hard to talk to her?

"Yeah," Tony said. "Abby put the phone to his ear this morning. I got a few grunts, which is more than you get from him normally. The drugs must be effecting him."

Ziva was quiet. So achingly quiet.

Not even a chuckle.

"He asked for you," Tony said.

 _Ziver_ , had been all Gibbs had said, when the phone was placed next to his ear.

Ziva always was his favourite.

The closest she had to a father.

The closest he had to a living daughter.

It was a bond the rest of them would never understand.

"I cannot go," Ziva said, her voice urgent. "I have the baby."

Tony's face ached with his frown.

"You could leave her with Dad," Tony said, knowing full well that Ziva would never leave the baby with Senior.

"No," Ziva said quickly. "When you get back, I will go."

Tony frowned. He would not be home until late the next evening. It would be Thursday before Ziva would see Gibbs.

He felt so far away.

Too far away.

"We'll go first thing," Tony said. "We'll turns with the baby."

He wanted to see Gibbs'. He wanted Ziva to see Gibbs more.

Ziva was quiet. Every word was calculated.

She was drifting off into the fog again.

"I do not want her near the hospital," Ziva said.

He remembered the buzzing anxiety he had seen in Ziva, on those four days they were in the hospital after two became three. She was loathe to close her eyes. Every time a nurse came to check on mother and child, Ziva's eyes were fixed firmly on Talia.

Tony wondered now, if that was the first sign. An indication of what was to come.

If only he noticed sooner.

"There's a garden at Bethesda," Tony declared. "Talia and I will hang out there. I'll check in on McUncle."

Tony knew from his calls to DC, that McGee had not left the hospital. He was racked with guilt.

 _It should have been me_ , McGee had said when Tony asked for details.

 _Nobody blames you_ , Tony had said when he did a morning check-in, after hearing McGee had barely slept.

His next phone bill would be through the roof, but he did not care.

"He was not there," Ziva said, her voice was laced with anger.

The rage, that had been the hardest part of all of this.

Ziva would sit still, after a failed latch or when Talia would not settle, but the rage would simmer inside of her. Her eyes would glaze over. Her face would flush red, and sometimes she would release a tirade of swearwords in a language he did not speak.

This was only the rage he saw, there was close to ten hours a day, where she was alone with the baby.

"Neither were we," Tony said.

That had been one of the first thoughts when McGee called with the news.

He should have been there.

On your six, boss.

Got your back.

No man left behind.

There had been so many times when they had run into the fire together, and come back out with little more than a scratch.

Maybe, if he had been there, Gibbs would be nursing a scratch and a bourbon headache, not looking down the barrel of a medically induced retirement.

"We were not expected to be," Ziva said.

This was easier for her. She was nearly four years removed, and her new job did not overlap with her old one.

Tony struggled with the abandonment.

He had abandoned some of the people he trusted with his life.

"I'm sure he had his reasons," Tony said.

He had only managed a short conversation with Tim, because Abby was desperate to hear his voice. Tony had not actually found out what had caused McGee's absence.

"He's a mess," Tony said.

 _Go home_ , Tony had commanded from over six hundred miles away. _Go see Delilah_.

Yet McGee stayed firm.

He would leave the hospital when Gibbs left.

Tony knew if he was in McGee's shoes, he would be exactly the same.

"He should be," Ziva said quickly. Her words still venomous. This woman was not his wife. Not Ziva. "Gibbs is in a hospital bed. He could have died."

Tony's heart ached.

For just a second, he was back in the Vances dining room. Blood splatter on the wall. Her father slumped over.

The shrill scream.

 _Abba!_

Those sobs.

She had just kept crying.

Crying for her father, and for everything that had been taken. Crying for the understanding they had never managed to find. Crying for the grandchildren Eli would never hold.

"It's not like last time," Tony uttered softly.

Ziva was silent.

The baby made a noise. A sort of gurgle crossed with a babble.

Talia had been making more noises lately, and could hold her head up better. So much changed in her, so quickly.

The little smiles she sometimes did were still his favourite thing. Even though it was probably a reflex because she had gas.

They were supposed to be encouraging Talia to sleep laying down, and not letting her sleep in the sling. He understood why Ziva had wanted to keep Talia close.

Tony wanted to hold his family close.

He wanted to press his nose into Talia's hair, inhaling that sickly sweet baby smell. He wanted her innocence.

He wanted to kiss Ziva, and tell her it would all be okay.

It would all be okay.

"He's gonna be okay," Tony said.

Ziva was quiet again.

Talia made another noise.

"He is awake," Ziva whispered. Her voice was so small.

No coma this time.

No memory loss.

No earth shattering secret to be uncovered.

"Yeah," Tony said softly.

This time, Tony would not be squeezing into his black funeral suit.

This time, Tony would not be left to pick up the pieces after Gibbs' run off to Mexico, having forgotten the last fifteen years.

But, there would still be pieces to pick up.

"He's gonna be okay," Tony declared.

Talia made another noise, she wanted in on this conversation.

"Somebody is awake," Tony said, glad for the distraction. "Did you have a good nap Tali-bear?"

Tony looked at the clock in the corner of the room he had been assigned. It was late in the day. Talia would likely be awake for half the night. Ziva would likely be awake for even longer.

Tony felt a ball of guilt rise in his throat. He would get a full nights sleep, while Ziva looked after the baby.

He was so far away.

"She will be hungry soon," Ziva said. "We should go."

Talia's routine consisted of eat, poop, sleep, repeat. Sometimes, they managed to squeeze in some play time, but Talia had a habit of nodding off during tummy time.

Tony envied Talia's simple routine.

"Can I talk to her before you go?" Tony asked.

The baby made another noise. She had her father's need to fill the room with noise.

"Would you like to speak to your father?" Ziva asked Talia. Her voice was neutral, but the fact she was talking to the baby was a start.

Ziva was trying.

She had been trying so hard.

 _These weeks are so hard,_ Leyla had said as she and Tony sat in the living room with a sleepy Talia, while Senior and Ziva were in the kitchen. _But, it will get better, around five or six months._

Tony had clung to Leyla's words. They just had to get through three or four more months of this.

Could they get through three or four months of this?

Leyla knew this dance. Leyla knew how this worked.

"Please Princess Talia may I beg a moment of your time?" Tony asked, in an exaggerated British accent. "I know I am but a humble peasant to you, but I do so wish to consult you."

Talia babbled. He would take that as a yes.

"I think she can spare a few moments," Ziva said, her voice lighter now.

There was noise, and shuffling on the phone.

"Hi Baby," Tony said. "I hope your being good for Ima. I miss you and Ima so much. I love you both more than anything."

Talia babbled.

He wondered how Tony understood all of this. She was well loved and well cared for, but did she that vacant look in Ziva's eyes when she drifted out to sea, and into the fog.

"Things are a bit hard at the moment," Tony continued. "But, I promise you everything is going to be okay."

A sob echoed from Ziva. It was muffled by distance, but it still made Tony's heart heave.

He counted the hours until he would be home.

Twenty two and a half give or take.

Or just shy of ten hours, if he found a car and jumped on the road, right this minute.

He wanted to go home.

He needed to go home.

"Well Princess, I know I am keeping you from your feast," Tony said. "Let me just talk to Ima for just a minute."

There was more shuffling.

"I love you," he whispered as Ziva put the phone to her ear. "I love you so much."

Ziva sniffled.

"I love you," she replied.

He was so far away.

He needed to get home to his family.

"Are you going to be okay?" He asked.

He knew it was a silly question, but he wanted to hear her say I will be fine, because for just a second, he could pretend it was. Pretend she was. He was so far away, and there was nothing he could do.

He just needed her to hold on for a little while longer.

"No," Ziva said.

Tony swallowed thickly.

"No," he echoed.

Talia started to whimper.

They had maybe a few moments before Talia started to scream, and needed to be fed.

"Gibbs is probably going to be permanently injured," Ziva said. "He might be forced to retire."

Tony coughed.

He had always imagined Gibbs going down in a blaze of glory. The great Leroy Jethro Gibbs did not retire.

Gibbs was as much a part of NCIS, as the garish pumpkin walls.

Still, as the great Leroy Jethro Gibbs had come so close to death and so recently, that Tony was glad there was a few more headslaps in him.

"He'll be okay," Tony said. "Retirement is not the end of the world."

Talia started to wail, and a guilt rose through Tony. He should not have kept Ziva on the phone for so long. Not asked her to choose between him and the baby.

"I have to go," Ziva said, between Talia's anguished sobs. "I love you."

Talia's screams were getting louder.

"I love you too," Tony said, as the phone was cut off.

He blinked a few times, as the room suddenly became silent. Talia's whimpers echoed in his ears.

He was so far away.

Six hundred and thirty miles.

A ten hour drive, if he could find a car.

His phone buzzed with a notification.

A text from his work colleague telling him the group was leaving to go to the next town over for dinner, in twenty minutes.

Tony had already agreed to go out with them, even though his heart was not really in it. He knew he needed to get to know his colleagues better, but everything that mattered to him was in DC.

He flicked through the earlier notifications on his phone.

McGee had sent an update on Gibbs.

Abby had sent an update on McGee.

Ellie had sent an update on Abby.

Gibbs was as okay as one could expect after being shot.

McGee was a mess.

Abby was calmer than everyone expected. Perhaps because Gibbs was both alive and awake.

Senior had sent a picture of the dinner he was cooking for Ziva.

There were no fires to put out.

Tony took some deep breaths. The adrenaline of the last few days finally easing off.

A few seconds later, he opened the browser on his phone, and typed a familiar search term.

'Think my wife has postpartum depression.'

The same few articles and government advice sites populated the search.

He could recite the advice from when he had first googled the baby blues.

Wait it out, help more around the house, and give Mom a break.

If only it was that easy.

He zoomed passed the advice pages until he reached a familiar blog. It was the type of blog that was a dime a dozen on the internet. A mom in a landlocked state, who shared her thoughts on motherhood and had gone through postpartum depression 'journey'. What had made Tony come back to the blog multiple times was a post by the woman's husband detailing his experience of his wife's illness.

When Tony had first read the post, he had found something he could agree with in each paragraph.

 _I just felt like this woman in front of me was not my wife._

 _I knew she didn't want to hurt the baby, but I knew she was not happy._

 _And, I was scared._

Tony had flicked through other posts on the woman's blogs, and listed off all the reasons Ziva and this random woman in the midwest were different.

Talia had been a planned and wanted baby, compared to this woman's 'happy surprise' which had caused her to change her wedding plans.

Talia had not needed to go to the NICU, where as this woman's son had been admitted due to an extreme case of jaundice.

Tony had been home with Ziva and the baby for over a week before going back to work, where as this poor woman in the middle of nowhere had only had her husband home on Sundays, as he was working six day weeks to keep their family afloat.

Yet, now as he re-read the husband's post, he found himself mentally ticking boxes.

Ziva was not okay.

In the last few weeks, he had tried to gentle prod her, to get her to talk more. He knew better than to confront her.

Still, she remained tight lipped, whenever he asked if she was okay.

In the early days, when Tony was still not sure what was going on, but knew something was wrong, he had asked Palmer how long it took Breena to get back to normal after Tori was born.

 _You don't go back_ , Jimmy had said, _this is your new normal._

Tony had only seen Breena a handful of times, between Tori's early February birth and his and Ziva's September wedding, but each time Breena had seem happily tired.

Tony wondered how much he really saw in those handful of interactions.

Tony pulled out his phone, and scrolled through his contacts.

He found the listing for Doctor Freidman, Ziva's doctor, who had been their through Ziva's pregnancy, and had been Ziva's doctor long before then.

He pressed the phone icon on his screen, and glanced up at the clock on the wall, it was late in the day. Maybe, Ziva's workaholic doctor was out of the office, or helping bring another new life into the world.

One ring. Two rings. Three.

"Dr Friedman speaking," came a familiar warm voice, crackly over speaker phone.

Tony swallowed thickly.

A guilt stewed in him, like he was telling on his wife.

But, he had too. They could not wade through anymore of this fog, not without leaving permanent scars.

What if the fog took Ziva forever?

"Hi," Tony said. "It's Tony DiNozzo, Ziva David's husband. Can we talk?"

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

I'm getting a few reviews, where people are no longer enjoying the story. That's fine, if this one is no longer your jam, thank you so much for your support so far, and I hope you find some fanfic you enjoy.

When I initially drafted this fic, Tony was going to be blind to Ziva's depression, but that felt out of character for him, because he knows her so well. Ziva is slow to get out the fog, because depression lies to you. It tells you that you deserve everything it's telling you. I am very aware that the topic I am writing about is very real illness, and leaves scars on families for years.

These last few chapters, have brought my perfectionist tendencies out, and they have been rewritten multiple times. One of the things that differs fanfic from traditional books, is the regular updates, mean that you cannot go back an edit previous chapters to make things flow better. If I could rewrite this fic, I would have shortened this part of the fic, is the longest fic I have ever written and I doubt I will ever write anything so long again.

The six hundred and thirty miles that is this chapters name is the rounded down distance between Fairfax,Va to Glynco,Ga. In my head, I've put the David-DiNozzo dream house in Fairfax county, close to the Franconia-Springfield metro stop. Thanks to a long twitter discussion with Misspatchesmom, this Australian knows a lot about the Alexandria/Fairfax county area of Virginia. Fun fact, the Bitternut drive mentioned in an earlier chapter, is a real street.

The next chapter will feature Tony and McGee, and explain why McGee wasn't there when Gibbs got shot, it should be up next week. Next chapter after that will have Tony and Ziva finally have a very important conversation.

Thanks again for all the reviews, and support.


	34. The Apple and the Tree

Tony looked down at Talia, as she let out a sleepy snuffle. He rubbed her back through the sling. She was so little, and so perfect.

He had missed her so much. The longing had been desperate.

He had been back home for fourteen hours, and was still not cuddled out. The minute Tony had slipped through the door of the house, he had found Ziva and Talia, and wrapped his arms around them.

They had stood like that until Talia started to babble.

 _It's gonna be okay,_ Tony had whispered over and over again.

He was home.

He would keep them safe.

Tony looked around the garden Bethesda Hospital. On the bench across from him, a woman with bleached blonde hair was wiping her eyes.

Hospitals could be such horrible places.

Tony looked toward the hospital. It had been ten minutes since Tony had walked Ziva to the door of the hospital, with a fresh room number from McGee.

"Everything's gonna be okay," Tony whispered to Talia. "I promise."

He patted Talia's back, and looked around. McGee was walking toward him with a cardboard tray containing two disposable coffee cups. Abby, who had been freaked out by the video of a straw coming out of a turtle, and had started to reduce her waste, would not be impressed.

"Hi McUncle," Tony said, as McGee sat down, and handed Tony a coffee cup.

Tony took a few sips. The coffee was as good as one could expect from a hospital coffee cart. It was much needed, Talia had been up multiple times the previous night, and Tony had gotten up every time. He had tried to get Ziva to stay in bed, even though he knew she was not really sleeping.

Help out more, the advice on the blogs had said.

If only Ziva would let him.

"Hi," McGee said, as he looked over at Talia. "Hi Talia."

Talia remained quiet.

"Wow kid," Tony murmured. "No need to be a snob."

McGee smiled for a second, then took a long sip of coffee.

Tony studied his friend. There were dark circles around his eyes, and he smelt like the hospital.

"It's nice out here," McGee murmured.

Tony looked around the garden. A man wearing USMC T-shirt, and stumps for legs, was whizzing around in a wheelchair.

There was so much tragedy in the world.

"Yeah," Tony said, as he rubbed Talia's back. "Is this the first time you've been outside since you got here?"

McGee took another sip of coffee.

"I should have been there," McGee said. "So, I'm here now."

Tony sighed.

During his three days he was in Glynco he had felt so far away.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get here earlier," Tony said. "I'm not exactly popular at work right now, with all the vacation days I took. Don't know what would have happened if I bailed on the conference."

It had been a long three days.

He had been physically in Glynco, but mentally at home.

"You're here now," McGee said. "So is Ziva."

"If," Tony stammered. "If things had been worse, I would have gotten on the first plane I could, and sorted out the job later."

McGee nodded.

"I'm glad it wasn't," McGee declared.

Tony took a long sip of coffee. As the coffee cooled it became more acidic.

"Me too," Tony said. "He's gonna be okay."

McGee looked around the garden. A group of people were standing around the memorial.

"He's in a lot of pain," McGee said. "The physical therapist thinks he's always gonna have a limp. He's definitely not going back into the field."

Tony's heart sunk.

"But, he's alive," Tony declared.

Tony rubbed Talia's back.

Daddy's got you. You're safe. Daddy will always look after you.

"Yeah," McGee said. "Not sure how happy he is about that, at the moment."

Tony studied his daughter. In the eight weeks since she had joined them, his heart had split into two, and knitted back together.

Parenthood is watching your heart outside of your body, that was what the books had promised him.

Tony did not think if he would be able to go on, if he lost Talia. If Ziva was taken too, he would just lay down and die.

He did not understand how Gibbs had managed to keep going.

It had been twenty six years, since Gibbs' whole world had been torn apart.

Twenty six years.

"He'll get over it," Tony said.

McGee nodded, and lunged forward to touch the baby.

Talia flinched as McGee touched Talia. McGee mirrored her flinch.

"It's just a reflex," Tony said.

McGee nodded.

"She is a clone of Ziva," McGee said, as he studied the baby, this time without touching her. "It's amazing."

"Yeah," Tony said. "It's pretty crazy. She's got the DiNozzo nose though."

McGee nodded. His eyes fixed on the baby.

"She's pretty amazing," Tony said, as he rubbed the baby's back. "And, she's already changed so much."

Tony pressed a kiss on the baby's hair.

"I still can't believe you and Ziva had a baby," McGee said. "Like a living breathing human. I mean how did that happen?"

Tony frowned, then reached up to cup the baby's ears.

"I know it's my job as best man to explain the birds and the bees to you McVirgin," Tony said in an exaggerated stage whisper. "But, let's keep it PG-13 in front of the baby."

McGee smiled. It was the brief hint of the sun coming out from the clouds. It was so bright.

"I know how it works," McGee said.

"Good for you," Tony said. "I'll save the diagrams for another twenty years, so I can explain it to Talia."

McGee smirked again, and then looked away. Toward the hospital. Drifting away.

"Delilah's pregnant," McGee said, as he came back into shore.

"What?" Tony spluttered, knowing instinctively that this news from the McCouple would have been a surprise to them. "Wow. Congrats, man."

Tony reached behind McGee and slapped his back.

"How many weeks?" Tony asked. "When is the baby due? Any morning sickness?"

"About eight weeks. So Mid- December. Yeah, a little but we thought it was just food poisoning," McGee said. A smile dawning on his face. "It was all a bit of a surprise."

Tony looked at Talia. She had been conceived in his and Ziva's mind long before the cells started to divide.

She had been so wanted.

So planned for.

Yet, she still managed to turn everything upside down.

"Did you hear that Tali-bear?" Tony asked the baby. "You're getting a cousin for Christmas, actually more likely Hanukkah. Depends on whether your playmate needs an eviction notice."

Then as Tony calculated Talia's age, she had turned nine weeks old on Wednesday. He worked out quickly, that the McBaby had been conceived around the same time as Talia's Brit Bat, because eight weeks pregnant actually meant six weeks.

It was the type of math, he could have never done years ago.

"Cousin," McGee coughed, his eyebrows cocked.

"Yeah," Tony said. "Its kinda a shorthand, kid of this dude my parents used to work with and still hang out with, is quite a mouthful."

McGee smiled again.

"Cousin," McGee repeated. "I like that."

Neither McGee or Delilah's sisters lived close, and neither had children, so Talia and Tori Palmer would fill the space left for cousins.

For a second, Tony could imagine the three families and the three kids at a beach. Tori, the eldest leading the way into the ocean, Talia reeking havoc on the beach and thanks to her mother's olive complexion not burning in the hot summer sun, and the McKid trailing behind cautious but eventually following the girls into the ocean. He could already hear the shrieks of the kids. He could imagine Ziva, sitting in a bathing suit, with a smile on her face. She would be happy again.

Tony imagined the McKid as a boy. Pale but with Delilah's dark hair.

It was a nice image. Tony hoped it would be true.

"Yeah," Tony said. "We've got so much baby crap you can have, there's so much she's outgrown. And, baby stuff is so expensive."

Talia let out a snuffle.

"What's it like?" McGee asked. "Being a Dad."

"Tiring," Tony said, "I thought as my years with Gibbs had trained me for the sleep deprivation. Spoiler alert, it didn't. Sometimes I sneak a nap in during my lunch hour. I've found the most comfortable way to sleep in the car."

McGee looked at the baby.

"You get a whole hour for lunch," McGee murmured.

Tony looked down at the baby.

He got a whole hour for lunch, and arrived home at nearly the same time every night.

It all seemed so decadent.

Especially, as he no longer ran into the fire.

"Sometimes," Tony said.

It was a white lie.

"Do you think you'd still be managing if you were still in the team?" McGee said.

Tony looked down at the baby.

"I don't think Ziva and I would have been able to make this baby with that schedule," Tony said. "Not all of us are you McFertile."

McGee looked at the baby, with a frown.

"You know what I mean," McGee said. "I just don't know having a family and the job are compatible."

A dark thought crossed Tony's mind. What if this darkness had come over Ziva, while Tony still pulled hundred hour weeks.

Would he have noticed?

 _Do you think Ziva is going to hurt the baby?_ Ziva's doctor had asked, when Tony called her from the musty dorm room in Glynco, his eyes focused a poster of a mediocre Midwestern football team.

 _No_ , he had said.

Not intentionally.

Ziva was so obsessed with the baby. Concerned about her temperature. Concerned about the temperature in the room. Afraid to take her outside, even within their white picket fence.

 _Do you think Ziva is going to hurt herself?_ The doctor had asked, as she sat still on the beltway.

 _No,_ Tony had replied, less sure of himself on the one.

Ziva would not actively hurt herself. He knew that even though there were guns in the house, and Ziva knew the code for the safe, she would not go seeking them out.

She would be more passive. She would let herself go, and stop caring.

 _But, she is a mess_ , Tony had said, as the doctor cursed a driver who cut her off. I don't know what to do.

The doctor had listened as he talked about the ghost of Ziva that had walked through his house for the past two months.

 _I love her, and I know something is wrong_ , he had said, his voice cracking, _I don't know how to help her._

He and the doctor had agreed that it would be better that Tony gently encourage Ziva to open up, rather than force her into anything.

Still, Tony was to watch for any sign that Ziva wanted to hurt the baby or herself.

 _Sometimes_ , the doctor said, her voice delicate. _Inpatient treatment is required. I am hoping this is not the case for Ziva, but you should be prepared for all outcomes._

Tony had read between the lines.

Would this all end up with him committing Ziva?

"They weren't for me and Ziva," Tony said, as he patted Talia's bottom through the sling. "But, we were always all in kinda people. We made choices. You and Delilah don't need to make those same choices."

McGee looked out to the garden.

A man with skin that was thick with scars, was taking a few tentative steps with a companion.

"My Dad was gone so often," McGee said. "He missed so much. I knew he was doing good, but it still sucked."

Tony was suddenly ten years old all over again, standing in the parking lot as it thinned out. Everyone else's parents had picked them up for Winter break, and Tony was little boy lost.

 _But, he promised_ , Tony would whine as he was walked back into school.

"I know," Tony said. "And, my Dad wasn't even doing much good."

Whether Eli David was doing any good, depended on who you asked.

Eli certainly did.

"But, there were plenty of kids who got shipped off to boarding school, and did okay," Tony said. "Because their Dad's made time for them. Their Dad's picked them up when they said they would, their Dad's turned up to ballet recitals, and their Dad's accepted when their kid turned out different than expected."

McGee's faced flashed red. Tony's words had hit close to home.

"When I was on the Seahawk there was a guy who would record himself reading stories to his kid," Tony said. "He did all the voices, and even got some of his shipmates to help out. If I was better at balancing things, I like to think I would have been that kind of Dad."

McGee looked down at his feet.

"You and Delilah are good at finding balance," Tony declared. "You two will work it out."

McGee looked back up.

"Do you really think that?" McGee asked.

Tony nodded.

"When you two put your brains together," Tony said, with a smile. "Magic happens."

McGee smiled.

"And when we put our bodies together," McGee murmured.

Tony let out a laugh.

"Gross," Tony said, still wearing his smile. "You did not just say that in front of my daughter."

McGee nodded. Then a dark look crossed over him.

"This worrying might all be for nothing," McGee declared, his voice suddenly heavier.

Tony knew what he was talking about.

The first David-DiNozzo baby would be just over two years old now.

Sometimes, though less so since Talia had joined them, Tony had wondered what their life would look like if that baby had stuck around.

Would Talia have joined them too?

Or would it have been a sliding doors sort of thing. They could only have one, and never both.

"You can't think like that," Tony said softly.

He could still remember the sobs that punctuated Ziva's words when she called to announce she was bleeding. He could still remember that futile ultrasound, where the doctor looked for a heartbeat but none was to be found. He could remember the overwhelming grief, that had hung on for a long time, they had known about the surprise pregnancy for a few short weeks, but it had become so wanted. So loved.

"Delilah is high risk," McGee said coldly.

It had only been three years since that drone nearly killed her.

Only three years since McGee stood outside of Delilah's room, still afraid to go in.

Only three years since Tony and Ziva, promised that if something bad happened, they would stay together out of love, and never out of duty.

So much had changed.

"Wheelchair users have babies all the time," Tony declared.

It was one of the things he had paid more attention in recent years, since Delilah became a wheelchair user, and he and Ziva started planning their life to include tiny fingers and toes. Wheelchair users becoming parents was the favorite topic of local news shows, needing a fluffy piece between fear mongering.

"I know," McGee said. "I've had a lot time to google over the past few days."

Tony was pretty sure the last time Gibbs' had slept this much, he had been in an actual coma.

"Remember the Ramirez case," Tony declared. "That woman had twins."

The Ramirez case, had been one of the last ones Tony worked with the team. Petty Officer Ramirez was found dead in an apparent suicide, but Gibbs' gut and Ramirez' religious girlfriend said otherwise. It turned out that during training, Ramirez had been involved in a training accident, where one former Seaman Chloe Pearson, had become paralyzed after a fall.

Pearson had made lemons out of lemonade, and most of the payout she had gotten from the Navy. She had gone to law school, after becoming the first member of her family to go to college, married and welcomed twin sons.

"Yeah," McGee said with a smile. "She and Delilah belong to the same forum. They talk sometimes."

Tony nodded.

The world was a small one.

"It's gonna be okay," Tony said, as patted Talia's messy hair.

He was talking to everyone.

"We just thought we'd have to plan," McGee said. "Over Christmas we were talking about how far we'd go if nothing happened. We were going to stop being careful after the wedding."

Tony looked down at Talia.

He remembered those conversations with Ziva. Ziva was so convinced that having a baby would not come easy.

"Be glad you don't have to worry about that," Tony said softly. "Trying is fun, but it's also so draining, and we didn't even have to go as far as Jimmy and Breena did."

Victoria Elizabeth Palmer was a scientific miracle.

Ziva had been so sure they would have to go down the same route.

Saleem and his filthy men had threatened to take so much from her.

"It's not just that," McGee said, "We wanted to be more settled. Delilah is up for a promotion, and I wanted to look into options career wise."

Tony looked at the baby.

Job. Family. Two cups.

"You want out?" Tony asked.

McGee shook his head.

"I don't think I could choose a whole different track," McGee said. "It's not like it was for you and Ziva, for me it's always been NCIS. I joined straight out of school. I don't think I could ever leave."

Tony knew McGee had gotten offers. Private contractors practically salivated over McGee's resume, and that was before they even met him.

"But," Tony said.

"But," McGee picked up. "I was looking into career options, which didn't involve so much risk."

If you kept running into the fire, it was only a matter of time before you got burnt.

"You can still do that," Tony said.

McGee shook his head.

"Even if Gibbs does magically pass a physical. It will be months until he would be back on the field," McGee declared. "I can't abandon the team, not again."

Tony nodded.

"Family first," Tony said. "Gibbs' gets that. The others would get it eventually."

It was a nice sentiment, but how did it work, when your colleagues became family, the two cups were family versus family, how did you pick one.

"Nick called me boss yesterday," McGee said. "I'm still not sure if he was being sarcastic."

Tony nodded.

"Remember when you used to call me boss," Tony said.

McGee smiled.

"That was a long time ago," McGee said.

Last time Gibbs had been hurt. Far worse than this time.

"Yeah," Tony said with a smile. "I kinda like how it all turned out."

McGee nodded.

Tony patted Talia's back. McGee picked up the empty coffee cup, and walked them to the bin.

"So how did you and Delilah find out?" Tony asked, as McGee sat down.

"I came home on Saturday night, and Delilah was sick," McGee declared, his voice warm. "Like really sick, she thought it was food poisoning. She was still sick on Sunday, but was still sure it was the bad sushi. Then she fainted, and so I took her to the ER. I should have taken her earlier, but she was sure she was fine. Anyway, the ER gave her fluids, and asked if Delilah could be pregnant."

A grin crossed Tony's face.

McGee's story was much more dramatic than the pee stick, that Tony had watched change in Schmeil's windowless bathroom.

How he missed Schmeil now. Schmeil would know how to tug Ziva back in from the fog.

"She said, that it was technically possible but unlikely,* McGee continued, a smile crossing his face. "They ran some tests, and well you know the rest of the story."

Tony smiled.

"The morning sickness will ease soon," Tony promised. "Make sure Delilah always has some food near her. In those first few months Ziva ate her weight in crackers. Did the ER give you any pictures?"

McGee shook his head.

"We have an appointment with a high risk OB tomorrow," McGee said. "The ER docs weren't sure if the heat from the ultrasound could affect the shrapnel. So we didn't get any. If we get some pics, I'll show you."

Tony nodded.

Delilah and Tim were facing a much bigger mountain than he and Ziva ever did.

Talia opened and closed her mouth. She would be hungry soon.

"We're not gonna tell anyone else until after that," McGee said. "I mean Dee told her Mom, but that's different."

When Delilah had gotten hurt, her mother had dropped everything. Judy had moved closer to DC when Delilah came back from Dubai. McGee was still getting used to having an almost mother-in-law who was so involved.

Tony looked across the garden.

The sobbing woman was gone.

"Have you told your Mom?" Tony asked.

Mom, how weird that still taste on his tongue. Ziva was an Ima. His Mom was long dead.

Mother's Day was two weekends away. Like, every Spring since his mother's death, he had noticed the advertising for mothers day flowers and cards. Unlike previous years his mind had not drifted to his own mother in her hospital bed, but to Ziva.

Mother's Day would be a good day, moving forward.

A celebration, not a commiseration.

"No," McGee said. "She's so far away."

Cheryl Thomas formerly McGee lived in Scottsdale with her second husband. Even though Tony had known McGee for over a decade, it had not been until the Admiral's funeral, and that meeting had been brief.

He had so many questions about McGee as a child.

He wanted to tell her how McGee's friendship had buoyed him during so many bad times.

Timothy McGee was a good man in a storm.

He hoped to do so at the McWedding of the century.

"She's your Mom," Tony said, even though the words were meaningless.

His understanding of what mothers were supposed to be came, from The Brady Bunch reruns.

"Once we're sure it's actually happening, we'll tell her," McGee said quietly. "Before the wedding."

The wedding was in the third weekend of June. Tony calculated that Delilah would be in the second trimester by then. Out of the woods.

Delilah would be in that awkward stage, where someone not in the know might think she had been stress eating.

"My Mom," McGee started. "She's not the type of person to go gaga over babies. I know she loved us, but little kids are energy saps. I'm pretty sure she had postpartum depression when Sarah was born."

Tony blinked as those words washed over him.

Postpartum depression.

Just like Ziva.

Tony pressed his nose into Talia's hair.

"What do you mean?" Tony asked, as he looked at his friend.

Did McGee notice it in Ziva too?

"You know," McGee said, "Depression after a baby is born. It's because of the dip in hormones."

"I know what it is McDictionary," Tony said. "I mean how do you know, weren't you like eight when Sarah was born."

"Ten," McGee clarified. "And, I didn't know what it was at the time. I just remember that all of a sudden my Mom was crying all the time, and if something pissed her off, she would rage for hours."

Tony raised his eyebrow.

"My Mom doesn't get angry," McGee said, "Like never, but after Sarah was born she would scream. My Dad was deployed and we'd just moved, so it was just her. She must have been so lonely."

Tony ran his hand over Talia's little curls.

"But, how did you know it was the depression?" Tony asked.

McGee looked down at his feet.

"I didn't," McGee said. "I just remember Mom calling Penny, and her staying with us all summer. By the time Dad got home, Mom was better. It wasn't until I was in college that I realised what it was, I was watching ER or something like that, with my girlfriend, and a character was acting just like my Mom did."

Tony rubbed Talia's back.

A younger Tony might have made a joke about McGee having a girlfriend in college, but he was too old for that.

"I don't think my Mom really knew what it was," McGee said. "I mean it was the eighties. We might have been in California but, we were on a Naval Base."

Tony looked out into the garden.

Did Ziva have the words?

"Have you talked to her about it?" Tony asked.

McGee was quiet for a second.

"No," McGee said. "We don't talk about things like that. She's trying, since Dad died, but she's still so far away."

Tony wondered if the distance was purely geographical.

"I thought I was fine," McGee said, "But, I see the way Delilah and her Mom are, and even what you and Senior have managed to build, and I want that."

Tony sucked in a breath.

"Took Dad and me a while," Tony said. "It'd definitely be harder without Ziva."

"Your father called me," McGee said. "When he heard Gibbs was shot, he wanted to check on me."

Tony smiled.

He was proud of his Dad.

It was a nice feeling.

"I didn't ask him to do that," Tony said.

Talia sniffled.

"I know," McGee said. "He told me he was going to offer to look after the baby so Ziva could come here."

Tony also had not asked his Dad to do that.

"He crashed in our basement while I was in Glynco," Tony said. "He's been a big help since we had the baby."

As if on cue, Talia woke and started to babble.

"Were your ears burning Tali-bear?" Tony asked, his voice becoming singy-songy, like it always did when he spoke to the baby.

Talia babbled, and shifted in the sling. She wanted out.

"Baby's have a way of bringing everyone closer," Tony said, as he started to maneuver the sling to get Talia out.

"Do you need help?" McGee asked.

Tony pointed to the diaper bag, which was an old backpack Ziva had found in their basement. It was tucked under the bench.

McGee reached under and picked up the bag.

Tony plucked Tony from the sling, and sat her on his lap.

"There's a pacifier in the front pocket," Tony said. "Can you grab that and her sun hat, and the pacifier clip?"

McGee slipped his hands into the pocket and produced both the things Tony had asked for.

"Better get used to this," Tony said, as he offered the pacifier to Talia. She took it eagerly. Tony reached into his pocket for the clip, and clipped the pacifier to Talia's onesie. Ziva would murder him in cold blood if he let Talia's hundred per cent rubber pacifier so much a graze the ground. "This will be you and the McKid in a year."

McGee smiled.

Tony held Talia with one arm and wrestled her sunhat onto his head. She grimaced as he delicately put the strap under her chin.

When Ziva was still pregnant, he had asked Jimmy how he could practice for parenthood. Jimmy, had said that Tony should tie one hand behind his back, and try to put the lid on the blender while it was blending

It was only now that Tony understood how right Jimmy was.

"You, me, Talia and McKid will go to a park just like this," Tony said, as he jiggled Talia on his lap. "Though hopefully not here."

As nice as the garden at Bethesda was, it was still a hospital.

"Yeah," McGee said. "I'm glad you did this first, I'm gonna be such a mess."

Tony laughed.

Talia babbled.

"Who says I'm not a mess," Tony said.

McGee looked at Talia.

Tony bounced her on his lap. She made a sound that was an approximation of a laugh.

"Maybe," McGee said. "But, you'll be out of the mess, so you can talk me through it."

Tony bounced Talia again. She continued to babble.

"I sure will be," Tony said.

He pressed a kiss on Talia's cheek, and she turned away.

Tony smiled.

"All right kid," Tony whispered.

McGee nodded.

"I told Gibbs," McGee said quietly. "When, he woke up from the surgery. I needed to explain why I wasn't there."

Tony nodded.

"What did he say?" Tony asked.

McGee swallowed.

"I'm not sure if it really registered," McGee replied. "He kinda grunted."

Tony smiled.

"He'll be excited," Tony said. "You see what he is like with Talia."

Talia made a noise, wanting to be included in the conversation.

Tony bounced her again.

"Yes, Tali-bear we're talking about you," Tony said, as Talia laughed.

Tony's phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Wanna hold her for a minute?" Tony asked.

McGee looked at Talia, then back at himself.

"Sure," McGee said, his voice shaky. McGee offered out his hands.

Tony scooted closer to McGee, and placed Talia on his lap. McGee held Talia closer.

"Wow," McGee said, as he pressed his nose into Talia's head. "That smell."

Tony slid his phone from his pocket a text from Ziva

 _I am done. Gibbs wants to see you. I want to talk after._

Tony looked at the message, and felt his gut churn.

Ziva was reaching out, trying to get out of the fog. He was going to reach out, to pull her in. He would tug her to shore, and they would all be okay.

Talia opened and closed her mouth. She was going to be very hungry very soon.

"It's amazing, isn't it," Tony said, as he pressed the call button on his phone.

 **A/N:**

I don't own a thing.

Next chapter will have Tony and Ziva actually talking.

It should be up next week.

Thank you so much for the kind words and reviews.


	35. Us Against The World

**A/N:** This is a heavy chapter, folks. Take care friends.

Tony watched as Talia's eyelids drooped, and her mouth pursed. He lowered her carefully, into the carseat, and mentally cursed the tight parking space that he had slid the car into hours beforehand. He delicately pulled the harness over Talia's tiny arms, and clicked the clip together. He tugged on the clip checking she was secure.

Talia let out a huge yawn.

"I feel you, kid," he murmured. "It's been a long day."

It was early afternoon, a little late for Talia's mid-afternoon nap, but Tony hoped the baby would go down for her evening sleep without fuss. He was ever the optimist, when it came to Talia's schedule.

They were still in the Bethesda car park, hours after they left the house. Talia had only been as far as the lobby, during the hand off between her parents, where she had been fed in a special nursing room, and changed in the mens restroom.

It was such a treat to find a mens room with a changing table.

"But, you know what," Tony said, as he pulled on the harness, to check she was secure. "Everything's, gonna be okay. Gibbs' might be rocking a cane for a while, but he's okay, and you're getting a cousin. Are you excited about that?"

Talia let out another smaller yawn.

Talia had also managed to get cuddles from both Abby and McGee during her time in the garden. She had no idea why her parents had brought her on this adventure. To her it was a good day.

"What?" Ziva asked, from the passenger seat.

Tony looked back at her, her sunglasses were fixed over her face, she was holding the pendant of her necklace in her hand. The necklace was a safety blanket, and she was clutching to it hard.

"Delilah's pregnant," Tony announced, as he did one last check of Talia's harness. She was safe. He would always keep her safe. "That's why Tim wasn't there. The two of them just found out, and were freaking out. They're still freaking out to be honest."

Ziva pressed the points of her star into her fingertips, and sucked in a heavy breath.

"Oh," was her only response.

Even though the McCouple's news was not public knowledge in the wider family, McGee had given Tony permission to share the news with Ziva, knowing that that Tony and Ziva did not keep secrets from each other.

If only it was simple as that. Tony and Ziva were not exactly keeping secrets, but they were definitely holding back. Perhaps, that was worse, knowing there was an elephant in the corner, but not acknowledging it.

Tony took in a deep breath of his own. Everything was heavy. So heavy.

Ziva was in arms reach, but still so far away.

The fog was drifting closer, and getting ready to claim her forever.

Tony turned back to Talia, and pressed a kiss into her forehead. Her eyes were shut. The Sandman had come for one of them.

"I love you," he whispered. "More than the whole world."

Quickly, he slipped out from the back of the car, and closed the door as quietly as he could. He stood outside the drivers door for just a second, and took another heavy breath. He was exhausted.

Even though he promised Senior, he would make the most of having the room to himself at Glynco, he had barely slept. He and Ziva had shared a bed almost every night since they had gotten together, and Tony never did sleep well when they were in separate beds. He had been a mess when Ziva was in Israel the year before. During the two nights in Glynco, he had woken every three hours expecting to hear Talia's nighttime whimpers. When he had woken to find no crib in the corner, he had been spooked, but before he could go back to sleep, worries had haunted him. He was worried about Gibbs. He was more worried about Ziva.

At least he did not have to worry about Gibbs' anymore. Tony had only gotten a few moments to check-in with Gibbs. Gibbs' had been in a hospital bed with tubes coming out of him, and his leg in a splint. Gibbs' had looked a decade older, and as exhausted as Tony felt. Gibbs' had simply nodded as Tony stepped into the room.

Didn't think it'd end up like this, Gibbs had said, as Tony sat down in the squeaky hospital chair. Gibbs' room had a get well soon balloon, which Tony could not tell if they came from Abby or Amira, and a dozen cards from various friends and colleagues. Gibbs' was not the type of person to buy flowers for, but he was still loved.

 _It's gonna be okay, boss_ , Tony had said as his gut churned. Gibbs was so small. So weak. His leg was in a brace. There were tubes coming out of him.

 _Not your boss anymore,_ Gibbs had said with a shaky voice. _Ain't_ _anyone's_.

 _Still want you around_ , Tony had said quietly, as he pulled his chair closer to Gibbs' bed.

Tony opened the door of the car, and slipped into the driver's seat. He closed the door quietly, and looked at Talia through the rear view mirror, she was still asleep. The mirror hung above her car seat, reflected her closed eyes, and her pursed lips.

Everything was going to be okay, he told himself again.

Ziva was in the passenger seat. Pressing the points of the star into her fingertips. Her curls were pulled into a loose bun. Everything had been such a rush that morning.

Tony reached out for her, placing his hand over hers.

She let out a breath.

"You ready to go?" Tony asked, as he rubbed her wrist. With his other hand, he started the car, and the hum of the air conditioning filled the car.

Ziva opened and closed her mouth, and ran her tongue over her lips.

"Can we stay here for a second?" Ziva asked. Her voice shaky.

Their hands untangled, and Tony checked on Talia again. She was fine. The air conditioning made a whooshing sound, and a blast of cold air surprised him. The temperature on the dashboard decreased. The black sunshade on the window by Talia's car seat, made the car feel darker.

"Of course," he said quietly. "Whatever you need."

Tony turned to look at her, but her sunglasses remained over her eyes. She was hiding. He saw his reflection in the dark plastic.

Ziver, Gibbs had murmured with gaps between his words, as Tony had gotten up to leave. Needs you.

I know boss, Tony had said, as he loomed above him, watching as Gibbs' grimaced with pain. Tony reached for the morphine pump and placed it in Gibbs' hand.

Tony reached for Ziva's thigh, and rested his hand there. The moisture-wicking fabric of the athletic leggings she wore like a uniform since Talia was born, caused friction under his hands.

"I want to talk," Ziva said, as she looked out of the window. "I know it is more than overdue."

Tony looked at her, and rubbed her thigh.

"I've been worried," he admitted, before his brain could stop his words.

Ziva sank her teeth into her lip.

"I need you to know that I love Talia," Ziva whispered, as she tapped his hand, and pushed it away lightly. "I love her more than anything."

Tony nodded. He had been promised this new kind of love, one that only came from holding ones child, but it still surprised him. The love that had been brewing during the pregnancy, boiled over the moment he had held Talia for the first time. She was all gross from the vermix, but was absolutely perfect.

His heart had burst, and then stitched itself together again.

He would never be the same.

If anything ever happened to Talia, he knew he would never be able to get up again.

He still did not understand how Gibbs had managed to get through the day.

A parent was not supposed to outlive their child.

"I know," Tony said, as his hand hovered close to Ziva, but not actually touching her. He respected her need for personal space. "And, so does Talia."

Ziva let out a nervous laugh. Disbelief.

"She is nine weeks old," Ziva declared, "She does not understand love."

Tony sucked back a breath, so it would not become a sigh.

Talia might not understand the abstract concept of love, but she knew she was loved. Every time she so much as whimpered. The baby had also started, trying to move her head closer to her parents, whenever they were nearby.

Did Ziva's heart not melt, whenever Talia broke out into a slight smile?

"She knows she is loved," Tony said softly.

Ziva looked out of the window, and a quiet started to brew.

He hated silence, and many a stakeout partner knew that if there was quiet, Tony would find a way to fill it. He would recite plots of whole movies, or talk about crazy dates, of which he had many. It had been over two years since Tony had been on a stakeout, but the silence still irked him.

If he stayed silent he could be forgotten.

His Dad had forgotten him more than once.

He had been silent when his Dad left him in that hotel room in Maui. Only ten years old.

He had been silent, when he found Wendy's dear John letter mere hours before they were supposed to walk down the aisle. He had been silent when he turned up at work the following on the Monday that should have been his honeymoon. Gibbs had been silent too.

Underneath, everything Tony had built in the past four decades, there was still a little boy afraid of being left behind.

"I know things have been tough," Tony said softly. "Over the last few weeks."

 _Make sure she understands that she is not alone in these feelings_ , Ziva's doctor had said as Tony sought her advice from faraway Glynco. _She may not be alone in this, but she may feel lonely._

Ziva let out a strangled sob.

For Ziva silence was survival.

If you make noise, people could find out your weaknesses, and exploit them.

If you made noise you were weak.

In silence there was safety.

Tears slipped out from under Ziva's sunglasses. Her lip quivered.

Tony's heart heaved.

"I thought it would go away," Ziva whispered. Her voice shaky. "I told myself that if I just tried harder, it would go away."

He had wished for the same thing. Wanting to come home one day, and find his wife wearing all smiles, and finally at peace in parenthood.

In his experience, wishes seldom came true.

Ziva lifted her sunglasses up over her forehead and into a bed of her curls. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks were tear stained.

She took some shallow breaths.

Tony reached out for her again, and took her hand in his. Their fingers intertwined.

They were stronger together than apart.

"I thought," Ziva started, before letting out a sniffle. "That when I managed to feed her properly, that it would get better."

Tony sucked in a breath. Ziva and Talia had managed to build what the books and blogs called a breastfeeding relationship, but he still saw that moment of apprehension in Ziva as she got Talia to latch. He had watched as Ziva grimaced as she attached the pump to her chest. It was so mechanical.

Ziva kept a tally on the whiteboard on the fridge, with how many feedings they had stored in the freezer, even though they had more than enough formula ready to go.

There was no danger of Talia starving.

Yet Ziva saw the danger. She saw so much danger.

"I saw how much you struggled," he said.

Ziva looked up at the rear view mirror, and at the baby, studying as her tiny chest rose and fell.

"I still feel the same," Ziva uttered, as she untangled her hand from his, and wrapped her arms around torso. A protective pose, Tony knew from years of studying body language. Ziva was feeling vulnerable.

"How do you feel?" he asked, his words delicate.

Ziva took in a deep breath. Her chest heaving. Then she pulled her arms around herself tighter.

"I love her," Ziva said, as her lip quivered. "But, I feel so scared."

Tony reached for her, placing his hand on her forearm.

"I was scared too," he said. "She is so little, but she's okay. We've kept her alive for over two months."

Ziva shook her head.

"No," she said. "You do not get it. This fear it is overwhelming."

Tony remembered a de-escalation of mental health episodes training he had taken years ago, when he lived in Peoria, after the local state hospital had lost funding, and the homeless population skyrocketed. The key thing to understand, the psychologist had said to a bunch of under prepared underpaid police officers, that anything can cause a mental health episode if the individual finds its distressing.

Tony felt his mouth dry.

"When did this start?" Tony asked softly.

Ziva moved her head slightly, so that their eyes could not meet. Creating distance.

Tony swallowed thickly, making his throat ache, and his popped.

"When she was born," Ziva finally said. "I was so exhausted when she was finally born. Everything hurt, and I felt so faint. It was like I was outside my body."

Tony remembered that hospital room. He remembered the hours and hours of waiting. The walking up and down the hall. Ziva's face as the pain became almost too much. Then finally catching a glimpse of the baby. Of holding the baby, while the nurses told Ziva to stay awake. Her face paling, and the sheet under her soaking with blood. She had been quickly revived, and a transfusion organised, but it scared Tony.

"She looked so much like me," Ziva whispered, as yet more tears fell down her face.

Tony nodded, and looked back at the baby. She had changed so much in the nine weeks and one day since she had been born. The DiNozzo nose had come in, making her face less of a clone of Ziva.

"Yeah," he said. "She was like a clone."

Ziva pulled her arms tighter around her middle. Squeezing herself to force the words out.

"It had been such a long time since there was someone who looked like me," Ziva whispered.

Tony felt bile rose in his throat.

How spoiled he was with his alive father, where he could see his genetic destiny.

"Oh Ziva," he whispered, as he tugged at arm trying to get her to look him in the eye.

Ziva sucked in a deep breath, and turned slightly. There were not exactly eye to eye, but he could see more of her.

She had never given herself permission to grieve all her losses. There had been therapy, undertaken in their first six months together, after she had chosen a life of peace. Ziva had torn herself down, undoing most of her fragile coping strategies, and rebuilt herself. The nightmares were infrequent, but some scars run deep.

Of course the hormonal roller coaster of pregnancy and childbirth, would cause such a fracture in her psyche.

Why hadn't he seen it sooner?

He had been blinded by his love for the baby.

"Everyone who looked like me was taken away," Ziva declared, her voice icy. "Or I took them away."

Tony felt the bile rise up his throat again. It burnt. He pushed at the door, and opened it. He leaned over, and started to let out deep breaths. His throat burned. He focused on the line of parking space. He would not throw up here.

Ziva had thought someone would take the baby away.

 _Do you think Ziva wants to hurt the baby?_ The doctor had asked.

 _I killed Ari_ , Ziva had whispered in the David family farmhouse when they first got together, repeating a known fact. _He was my brother._

Had Ziva worried that she would hurt the baby?

Once his breaths were steady, Tony came back into the car, and closed the door softly.

"I do not want to hurt her," Ziva said, her voice shaky. "Please know that."

Tony reached out for her. Ziva's bare arm was all goosebumps.

"I know that," he said.

Ziva let out a sob.

"I have to keep her safe," Ziva whispered.

The borderline agoraphobia. The obsession with the vaccines. The obsession with temperature, both Talia's and the room she was in.

It had made sense now.

"We will keep her safe," Tony said softly, as he rubbed her arm.

Ziva sucked her lip into her mouth.

Tony studied her eyes, they were red raw.

"I tried to tell myself that," Ziva said, as she released her lip. "But, the thoughts kept creeping back, because we could try our best to keep her safe and something could still happen. My mother and sister were just going about their days when they were taken."

That was the cruelest fate of the David family legend, both mother and daughter had been killed in the type of events, that Eli David had tried to prevent. Separate events mere five years apart. Yet, Ziva still said such heartbreakingly bittersweet things, like how she was glad that Tali's death had been instant, and that her mother had died before Tali.

Tony wished that it was not like this. He wished that he had gotten to meet Rivka David and watch her become a mother-in-law and grandmother. He wished that he and Ziva, had been able to have more of debate a name for their daughter, because the name Tali was already in use.

"I know we do not live in Israel," Ziva declared, as she pressed her fingernails into her forearm, leaving crescent moon marks. "I know that Israel now is different from my childhood, but I see danger in everything."

It was a side effect of their former jobs. Seeing danger everywhere.

The sound of a car backfiring would send him reaching for his waist, even though he no longer carried a gun. Ziva would always flinch when fireworks went off, but still insisted on watching displays with him. Her arms snaked around his back.

He and Ziva, had discussed riding their house of the one gun they kept in the house. A handgun, which was kept in a locked safe high in their walk in closet. They had kept it out of habit, and then rationalised it by saying it was for protection, but it was too hard to access if they needed it.

Ziva had barely left the house since Talia was born. Their home was her castle. Her fort.

"Is that why you never want to leave the house?" he coughed out.

Ziva nodded ever so slightly.

"I thought that would get better when she was vaccinated," Ziva declared, her voice still shaky. "But, the fear is still there. There is so much danger in the world. She could get bitten by a tick, or catch a cold, or get sunburnt."

Tony's heart heaved.

There was so much pain in Ziva's words.

So much distress.

He had only seen the tip of the iceberg.

"I was going to try to get better," Ziva said softly. She leaned over and grabbed a tissue from the box under the radio. "I was going to try to take Talia for a walk when you were in Glynco. I want to get better."

Tony pressed his hand into Ziva's hand.

Everything changed when Gibbs had gotten shot.

"I know," he whispered. "I know you've been trying so hard."

She moved slightly, so they were eye to eye. Their knees pressed together.

They so seldom spent so much time in the car, without it moving. His body ached.

"I was not just scared that something would happen to Talia," Ziva admitted. Her hand was clammy. "I used to worry about you too. Every time you were in the car. I have a google alert on the highway you drive to work on in case there was an accident. When you came back everyday it was such a relief."

The bile rose back up his throat.

That look of relief when he entered the house, he had thought it was because he was there to help with the baby.

The air car was suffocating. He look a few careful breaths.

"The morning before you left," Ziva continued, as she averted her eyes. "I was convinced something bad was about to happen. I thought maybe the airplane would crash, or something would happen to the shuttle bus. Then Gibbs-"

He squeezed her clammy hand.

Gibbs had been shot. Gibbs would never be the same again.

Ziva's eyes were glassy again. His eyes were glassy too.

"He's going to be okay," Tony uttered softly. "Eventually."

And, so were they. Eventually.

Gibbs was looking down the barrel of complete knee reconstruction, and at least six months of rehab. His shoulder would always ache, but if the shooter had been more skilled, Gibbs would have most likely lost the leg, or his life. It could have been so much worse.

He was going to lose the job, and Tony suspected that would hurt him more than any bullet.

"I know," Ziva said, after she ran the tissue over her nose. "I told myself that once I saw him, once I knew that he was okay, I would be honest with you. I did not want to lie to you. I just thought it would get better. I thought if I willed it I would get better."

Tony gripped her hand tightly.

"I get it," he said softly. "I'm just glad we're talking about it now."

Ziva nodded. More tears feel down her face. A snot bubble blew out of her nostrils.

"I want to be a good mother," Ziva said softly. "I want to get better."

Tony sucked in a deep breath.

"You are a good mother," he said softly. "Everyone sees that."

Ziva shook her head.

"Good mothers do not feel like this," Ziva uttered softly. "Good mothers are happy. Good mothers do not make their husbands worry."

Tony moved closer to Ziva. The gear stick of the car, was in between them.

"You are a good mother," Tony uttered. "I did worry, but I love you, and I want to help you get better. I want to help you."

Ziva's face broke again.

Talia woke from her nap, and let out a soft whimper.

Tony looked at her through the rearview mirror. They were trying not to instantly pick her up if she made a noise, but that was a test of wills. Not of Talia's but at her parents. She was so little, and they could not leave her to cry it out.

Talia let out a more dramatic whimper.

The continuation of the David and DiNozzo genes, was such a drama queen.

Ziva pushed at her door. Tony pushed at his, and because of sheer proximity arrived at Talia's side before her. Quickly, like the well practiced parent he was, he undid Talia's harness, and lifted her from the carseat, and into his arms.

Ziva hovered by the open door. She bounced on her feet.

"Did you have a good nap, Tali-bear?" Tony asked, as he started to rock her.

Talia started to settle, her whimpers becoming softer.

Ziva reached out for the baby, and touched her tiny feet.

"Do you think I have affected her?" Ziva asked softly, as she rubbed the tiny bare feet. It was too hot for shoes, her parents had decided. "With my thoughts. I know I have not been the best mother."

Tony shook his head.

"No," he said. "She's happy, and healthy. She loves you."

Ziva let out a breath. It was pure relief.

"I never wanted to hurt her," Ziva repeated, as she rubbed Talia's foot.

Tony bounced on his feet, and put Talia into one arm. With his spare arm he held it out to summon Ziva into a hug.

A couple of seconds later, Ziva was in the crook of his arm, and her chest on his. Ziva was whispering in Hebrew to the baby.

"It's going to be okay," Tony whispered, as he held his family close.

A car crept past them, no doubt looking for a parking space. He wondered what the occupants made of the scene. A huddle of family in a hospital car park.

"What do we do now?" Ziva asked, as she turned to him.

Tony patted her back. Talia babbled happily.

They were on the same page now, both looking at the mountain, but they still had no idea how to climb it.

"We need help," Tony said.

He flinched at the we, that had slipped out before he had time to stop it. Would it come across as insensitive, while she struggled to keep the monster contained.

Ziva blinked, and stepped back breaking the embrace.

She always struggled with asking for help.

Help is weakness.

"Professional help," he whispered.

Ziva nodded, then looked down at the ground.

The late spring sun beamed down on them.

"I wanted to avoid that," Ziva admitted.

Tony tugged at her wrist.

"I know this is really hard for you," Tony said. "But, we'll get through this."

It is us against the world, they had promised each other long before they wore matching rings, but when the past still threatened to derail the future.

They were stronger together.

He bounced Talia, readjusting her slightly, she was getting heavy. With his free hand, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone.

"I called your doctor," he admitted, as Ziva took his phone. "When I was worried about you."

Ziva opened her mouth, and then closed. A frown etched itself on her tight lips.

This was a betrayal.

She rubbed her hands on her thighs.

"I didn't know what else to do," Tony admitted. "The internet had all these crazy suggestions, I thought it would be better to talk to a professional."

Ziva took a deep steadying breath. The anger seemed to dissipate.

"I was worried," he said again. "I didn't want to make things worse."

Ziva looked at him, then at the baby, and then down at the phone.

She handed his phone back to him, even though she knew the passcode, and then pulled her own phone from the pocket of her leggings. Of course Ziva would buy leggings with pockets.

He watched as she opened the phone, and ran through her contacts, before putting the phone to her ear.

He quickly realised what she was doing, she was taking charge. Using her phone instead of his was a small action, but it meant a lot to her.

Just like when a mission went south, she pulled herself back up again. She needed to be in control.

"Hello," Ziva said into the headset. "This is Ziva David, and I need an emergency appointment."

Tony could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

 **A/N:**

I don't own a thing.

Yes folks, our dynamic duo are finally on the same page. Finally.

I know that the pacing of this fic is off, and it's something I would fix it I rewrote this. I'm probably not going to write anything as long as this beast again, but I've definitely learnt some lessons.

I struggled a lot with writing this chapter, perhaps because I have built it up too much. The postpartum depression is not over, but our family is on their way to healing.

I've played it a bit fast and lose in terms of Gibbs' injuries, so please forgive me for that. Also, the McBaby like almost all of this fic will be firmly out of cannon.

Thank you for all of the loves, and reviews. I'm going to reply to the reviews soon.

Next chapter will be up in 2 weeks, and will be from Ziva's point of view.


	36. The Light In The Fog

Ziva pressed her hands into her thighs, feeling the familiar friction of the exercise fabric. She took in a long breath, and scanned the windowless exam room. There were posters featuring diverse mothers of all races and ages, encouraging mothers to be, to eat more fruit and vegetables, get their flu shot, and give up smoking.

Ziva looked up at the clock on the wall, and read the time, but it did not register. It was rush hour, or on the clock, she now kept time on, it was the baby's witching hour. The time of day, usually just before Tony came home from work, where the baby was impossible to settle. No matter what was offered; breast, bottle, or pacifier, Talia would just scream. Then Tony would swan in, and she would instantly settle, as Tony took her into his arms.

It was hard not to take that personally.

Talia was such a Daddy's girl.

Ziva was a terrible mother.

Ziva ran her hand over her face, and under her nose. Her nose felt like sandpaper, and there were tear tracks down her face.

 _Crying is weakness_ , a voice that sounded like her father, echoed in her head.

This was all such weakness.

Other mothers did not struggle like this. They enjoyed every smelly diaper, and every midnight feed. They did not struggle to breastfeed, finding themselves feeling like a cow, but unable to share the load.

 _You are not alone in thi_ s, Ziva's doctor had said, as Ziva broke down in the exam room, being watched by the happy mothers in CDC posters. She could feel their judging eyes. M _any new parents struggle with the transition._

But, Ziva David was not just anyone.

She had been raised to be the best. Be the strongest.

She was the sharp end of the spear.

Ziva took another deep breath. In and out.

The heaviness that had been holding her down, was gone.

She was no longer drowning, but was only treading water.

They were not out of the woods yet.

Ziva scanned the room, and pressed her hands deeper into her thighs.

Where was he?

She looked at the door, then back at the clock.

It had been at least five minutes, since Ziva's doctor had left the room, promising to come back in twenty minutes with the practices family therapist, who would want to speak with both her and Tony.

This fog came from Ziva's head, but each member of their little family had been caught in it.

She was so selfish.

Ziva looked back at the door.

 _He has left you_ , the voice told her. _Taken the baby and left you. Nobody wants a crazy wife, especially not near their baby._

Ziva sank her teeth into the lip.

This too shall pass, Ziva reminded herself.

This is the fog. It changed how things appeared.

She was no longer pretending that the fog was normal. That these thoughts were real.

 _Depression lies to you,_ her doctor had said, in that same soft voice she had used when Ziva was in the throes of labour.

There were voices outside the door, the familiar Bostonian twang of the receptionist, and a babble that Ziva recognised from Talia. Within seconds, Tony had pushed through the door, the diaper bag hanging off his shoulder and Talia on his hip.

Ziva's chest ached. Fresh tears slipped down her face.

"Sorry," Tony said, as he sat down on the plastic seat next to Ziva. Adjusting Talia, and dumping the bag on the floor. "You missed the almost deadly poo-nami of May 2017."

Ziva found a laugh bursting through her. It tasted so foreign in her mouth.

Tony smiled, right up into his eyes.

There was light at the end of the tunnel, and Ziva could finally see it.

Ziva reached out to take Talia from him. She could already see the hunger cues in her little face. Ziva's chest was heavy with milk. She and Talia no longer shared a body, but they were still linked.

As Ziva pulled Talia closer, she noticed she was wearing a different onesie than the mustard yellow one she and Tony and wrestled her into that morning, as they rushed to see Gibbs. The onsie, she was now wearing was a soft lilac colour, which they were officially 'borrowing' from Jimmy and Breena as they went back and forth about having a second child. She looked up at Tony and noticed that the grey t-shirt he had slipped on, had been replaced by the old NCIS t-shirt, that had been in the trunk of his car for months, in the gym bag that seldom left the car. The Fletc campus had a gym he could use in his lunch hour, but these days Tony often used that time for a midday nap.

It was apparent that Ziva had missed quite an event.

Talia stirred in Ziva's arms, and directed her head toward Ziva's chest.

Tony reached toward the diaper bag.

Ziva sucked in a deep breath, and balanced Talia in one arm, as she pulled at her nursing top. It was a light blue colour, which Ziva did not like. Why did motherhood involve so many pastel hues? With the type of swiftness she had once been able to load a gun, she pulled down the top, and unclipped the bra.

She waited for Talia to latch.

She knew what Tony was looking for. The bottle. He was always so quick to go for the bottle.

 _All that matters is that she is fed_ , he had once said, during those early days where nursing seemed impossible, and Talia was so fragile.

Talia latched, and Ziva let out a breath. Relief.

She was not ready for another tense discussion about nursing.

Tony produced a bottle from the diaper bag, but it was not for the baby. It was for her. Ziva recognised the expensive stainless steel bottle, she had brought on a whim after reading an article about straws being pulled of turtles. The expense had proved worth it, when she discovered it kept water cool for hours.

"I know this makes you thirsty," he said, as he got up, and shuffled a few steps to hand her the bottle, undoing the lid in the process.

He hovered above her, and pressed a hand into her shoulder. A loving squeeze.

"Thank you," she whispered, as he bent slightly, and pushed the bottle closer to her. She nodded, and he brought the bottle to her mouth, so she could sip hands free.

After she was done, he moved back to his seat, and they were facing each other again.

He took a sip from the bottle, put the lid back on and slipped it back into the diaper bag.

Ziva switched breasts, and Talia latched again.

Silence brewed thickly. The clock behind her ticked.

Tony ran his hand over his face, and up over his hair. He pulled at the ends.

She knew this, he was debating what to say.

"It is what we thought it was," Ziva announced, breaking the silence.

She had filled out the postpartum depression questionnaire for the fourth time, and honestly this time.

The diagnosis was no surprise, but naming the fog had still stung.

 _I do not want to hurt her_ , Ziva had said as she watched her doctor score the test.

But, she was so scared that she would.

The same hands that held Talia, had taken lives. So many lives.

How could she be trusted with new life?

Tony reached across, and squeezed her knee.

Talia ate greedily, and the two parents beamed at her.

"I called off work," Tony said, as he moved back into the plastic seat, making a squelch noise. "I'm out all of next week."

Ziva's face flushed red.

Tony enjoyed his new job, even though the new label was wearing thin, he had been there for over two years, but he still struggled with the workplace politics. He had taken the job because of its family friendly hours, but found that it was not as family friendly as he wanted it to be. He had gotten flack for taking paternity leave, and days off for Talia's early well-baby appointments.

With Gibbs, they might have been pulling hundred hour weeks, but there was an endless bank of comp time to cash in for a personal emergency.

"But," she stammered, her mouth still dry. "You will get in trouble."

Tony frowned, and looked down at the baby, who was still chowing down.

He reached back into the diaper bag, without looking, and produced the stained burp cloth.

"I had to tell them what was going on," he said softly, as he threw the cloth over his shoulder. "I'm not exactly the most popular, and we definitely won't be going on a big vacation any time soon, but it's okay. Dan and Quinn are covering my modules, and I'll probably get stuck with the Thanksgiving training exercise, but I wasn't exactly asking for permission. I was just telling them what was going to happen."

Ziva felt her eyes well up again.

She had made such a mess.

 _You are being weak_ , the voice that sounded like her father echoed again. Weakness is not acceptable.

Tony calling out of work, meant that his colleagues and allies in making Fletc a family friendly workplace, would have to take on more work. Dan was a single parent, and Alex Quinn was caring for her seriously ill mother at home. Tony would probably have a meeting with HR as soon as he got back.

"You do not need to do that," Ziva said, as Talia unlatched. She only wanted a quick feed, but Ziva knew she would be ready to eat again in less than an hour.

Cluster feeding the books called it.

The books also promised dream feeds. Long sessions that would help Talia settle in for a long stretch of sleep at night. Those were yet to materialise.

Tony reached for the baby, and pulled her into his arms. She tilted her head to him. Her open hands looked like little starfishes, she was happy for now.

"I did," he said as he lifted the baby up onto his shoulder, and rubbed her back tenderly. He was such a good father. "You're not alone in this."

So many people promised her that, yet she felt so alone. The fog clouded everything, she could see the wood for the trees.

Ziva pulled the bra cups back over her breasts, and listened for the clip. She adjusted her nursing top, and looked toward the door again.

Where was the therapist?

This exam room was claustrophobic.

She looked back at Tony and the baby. Talia let out a huge belch. Ziva smiled. Tony laughed.

"Wow," he whispered. "You're just showing off, aren't you kid?"

Talia was silent.

Ziva pressed her hands into her thighs. A nervous habit.

"I love you," he whispered.

Ziva studied her husband and daughter. The two people who mattered most. She had lost so many people, but if she lost either of them, she would never be able to get back up again.

Tony adjusted Talia slightly, and the rubbing of her back got slower.

Talia was settling into sleep.

"I love you too," Ziva whispered.

Tony pulled extracted her from his shoulder, and into a cradle hold. Her little eyelids were heavy.

The baby was so beautiful.

Ziva had made something so beautiful and innocent.

She had to make sure she did not destroy that innocence.

She reached behind her, and picked up the pieces of paper from their spot on the desk.

Ziva pushed the papers into Tony's spare hand.

Talia settled into a sleep in her father's arms. She always slept best when she was being held by either of her parents, or even Senior if neither parents was available.

Tony scanned the papers, first was a leaflet about postpartum mood disorders, second was a flyer for a postpartum depression parents group which met in a church basement in Alexandria proper. Then there was prescription, and a piece of note paper that Ziva had scribbled all over.

"This will be good," Tony said softly, as he waved the flyer for the parents group in front of her.

Ziva nodded.

The thought of leaving the house with the baby was still daunting, but Ziva wanted to work her way up to that.

Having a Mom tribe is so important, Breena had told her a Tori's second birthday party. Breena had two friends who had their children at the same time as her, including the woman with the twins at the party. The three women and four children often went on play dates to the park or the soft play centre. All three women had to use fertility treatments to get pregnant, and had met through an online forum, before taking their friendship into real life.

Maybe, she would find support in a new friendship group. With people who understood.

"Yes," Ziva said, as she watched Tony move the flyer behind the other papers. He had not bothered with the leaflet about postpartum mood disorders, he already knew what to expect. They had lived it for the last nine weeks.

She pressed her hands into her thighs again, as she watched him read the prescription.

 _I want to prescribe you something_ , the doctor had said, still using that soft voice. _To help take the edge off._

Ziva sucked in a breath.

"We'll make sure we fill this," Tony declared, waving the prescription. "There's a pharmacy downstairs."

Ziva let out her breath.

"You are not concerned?" Ziva asked, as studied the baby.

"About what?" Tony asked, as he adjusted Talia on his lap. The papers balancing on his knee.

"The anti-depressants," Ziva declared. "Having somebody who is on antidepressants looking after your child."

Tony shook his head.

"She's your child too," Tony replied. "And, I don't trust Dad any less when he looks after her, because he's on cholesterol meds."

If only this heaviness was as simple as high cholesterol.

"The doctor said they will just be temporary," Ziva announced.

The doctor had not exactly said temporary, but said that they would review the medication periodically. The doctor had also said that the medication would form part of treatment plan, which included the support group and sessions with the therapist.

"Let's not attach a time frame," Tony said softly, as he looked back at her, with a kind smile.

He was being so kind to her.

So patient.

Love is patient. Love is kind.

"And, they are safe for breastfeeding," Ziva announced.

Tony nodded.

"Wouldn't matter if they weren't," Tony muttered.

Perhaps because of sheer biology, he had never been as enthusiastic about breastfeeding as she was. He was never anti, and had read countless blog posts and book chapters to support Ziva in it, but during those early weeks where it all seemed too hard, he had been so quick to move to bottles. He had moved the formula out of the corner of the pantry to the kitchen island within minutes.

"It would," she said, feeling her voice raise.

He did not understand.

That feeling when the milk let down. That knowledge that she was Talia's reason for sustenance, was both comforting and scary.

Knowing that her body kept the baby alive, made her feel like a good mother.

She only ever wanted to be a good mother.

"I feel like a good mother when I feed her," Ziva said, the words rushing out her mouth before she could stop them. Before she could filter them. "Sometimes, it feels like breastfeeding is the only thing I get right.."

In those nine months, which both dragged and flew by at the same time, she had read countless books on pregnancy, childbirth and parenthood. She had studied for parenthood, with the same fervor she had studied during her degree, but parenthood did not have an answer grid.

Tony looked at her. His mouth open.

"I didn't realise you thought about it like that," he said softly. "I guess seeing you struggle when we first brought her home kinda clouded things. I didn't know how to help then, and I still don't really know how to help now. When you were struggling, I saw how much you were trying. I know you, and I know that you would have kept trying until you hurt yourself. I don't want you to keep pushing yourself. If nursing is too much, we can look at other options."

Ziva felt her lip quiver.

In those first few days after Talia was home, she had lost weight. A normal part of very early infancy, the pediatrician had promised, but seeing the numbers go down had stung.

She knew what Tony was talking about, in those early days, every though had drifted back to feeding. She had tried out every hold, and thought about ordering special cookies to aid lactation. How much she had wished for an experienced mother or mother-in-law to let her into the age old secrets of motherhood.

It could have been so much worse.

Talia could have never found a latch.

Talia could have starved.

 _You could have killed your baby,_ the voices in the fog called out.

"I am sorry," she whispered, directing her voice to Talia.

Tony reached for her, with his spare hand. The papers were still balancing on his lap.

"It's okay," he whispered. "It's all going to be okay."

Ziva reached for the baby, and carefully plucked her from Tony's arm, and pulled her closer.

She needed to hold her daughter. She needed her daughter to know how much she loved her. How sorry she was.

The baby stirred, but did not wake. Ziva rested the baby on her shoulder, and put her hand under Talia's bottom.

Tony shook out his arm. Talia was heavy.

"I have been prescribed that brand before," Ziva said, as she pressed her cheek to Talia's back.

Tony nodded, unfazed by her admission.

"So you know what to expect?" Tony asked.

Ziva looked down at her lap.

"No," Ziva said, "I was prescribed them, but I never actually filled the script."

Tony let out a sigh, he was not surprised.

"When?" he asked.

Ziva swallowed thickly.

She and Tony had shared so many secrets long before they got together, and even more since two became one.

Yet there was still some stuff in the back of the vault, which had not yet been brought out into the light.

"After," Ziva stammered, as she pressed her nose into Talia, could she even say these words in front of her pure and innocent baby. "When we came back from Africa."

Tony swallowed thickly.

"I was a mess when we came back too," Tony admitted.

Ziva's heart sunk.

They had talked about Somalia, and the events that led them there a few times since they had gotten together. The nightmares still occasionally reared their ugly head.

"I could not take them," Ziva said softly, "because I could not let anything risk my application to be an agent."

Sometimes, the Ziva of now, was amazed by the woman she was all those years ago. How tightly she had clung to that badge. How much she had given up for it. And yet, how easily she had let it go four short years later, because the fire was too hot.

"Are you going to fill the script this time?" Tony asked. Ziva could tell he was making an effort to keep his voice neutral.

He had been one of the few to see the scars.

He had been the one in the Parisian hotel room, witness to her bizarre bed routine. She had to face the door. She had tried to keep herself awake in their tiny European size double bed, which was really a king single, fearing the nightmares that would come. It had been the same reasoning she had used months before, when she and McGee were trapped in a powered down elevator. She had fallen asleep anyway, because she had been awake for nearly two days prior to the trans-Atlantic flight. It had been his hands on her back, and his soft voice that pulled her out of slumber, when she got caught in the rip tide of the nightmare.

"Yes," Ziva said, as she adjusted Talia's position. "It is not just me this time. I need to think about how this affects other people."

Talia let out a tiny baby snore.

She had to be a good mother.

Talia deserved a good mother.

"Okay," he said softly. "We'll fill the script, and I'll google for any side effects we need to watch out for."

Talia started to wake.

Ziva wondered what time it was. The therapist should be with them by now.

"After I quit NCIS," Ziva started again. "I was offered antidepressants too."

Tony opened his mouth, and closed it again.

She could hear his question.

But, you were so happy.

It was an accusation.

She had been. The weight of that last year in the team had started to lift, but there were still dark days, as she made peace with the choices she made.

In those first six months, when she had weekly therapy sessions, she was undoing so many unhealthy coping strategies.

"I filled the script," Ziva said softly, "but I never took a pill. I was doing a lot of work in therapy, and it was an adjustment. I had always known what I was going to do with my life, and suddenly I did not."

Tony reached squeezed her knee.

"But, good things were happening then too," Ziva continued. "I thought that if I took the pills, that those happy moments would be less happy."

Tony frowned. He moved slightly, and the papers on his lap fell onto the diaper bag.

Ziva moved Talia from her shoulder to the cradle hold with one arm.

"I am going to take the pills this time," Ziva said, answering his unasked question. "I cannot keep going on like this. Talia deserves better, you deserve better."

Tony inched even closer to her, so that he was hanging off the chair. Their knees touched. Talia wriggled.

"We want you to get better," Tony whispered. "For you. These last few weeks have been hard, mostly because you've been suffering and I didn't know how to help. This isn't about what anyone deserves, except you."

Ziva felt a shiver roll through her body.

He always knew what to say.

 _None of this is your faul_ t, the doctor had said.

Still, Ziva had wondered if it was. She had taken lives, she had maimed people, and caused chaos, of course she would struggle with the innocence of motherhood.

Ziva had not been innocent for a long time.

"Did you see the list?" Ziva asked, as Tony slipped back into the chair. He picked up the papers from where they had landed near the diaper bag.

He scanned the list scribbled onto a piece of paper with the doctors practice letterhead.

The list had been what Ziva was instructed to do, while the doctor spoke with the therapist, and was actually two lists; one was of things that she thought might make her feel better, and the second was of small goals she wanted to work toward concerning during recovery.

Ziva had been instructed to write the list quickly, but not get too attached to the goals, as she and therapist were going to go through them together.

Things that make it feel better

\- Exercise

\- Cooking

\- Talking to people

Goals

\- Work toward leaving the baby with someone other than Tony

\- Make a plan for going back to work

\- Take the baby outside more

"I know it is simple," Ziva whispered softly. "I was instructed to keep it simple."

Tony looked through the list again.

He hovered over the talking to people item. Ziva had been so quiet in these last few weeks, even when Tony invited her to talk. She needed to get better at talking to him.

She needed to find other people to talk to. It was as she wrote that point on the paper, that she felt a pang of grief. She missed Schmeil. She wanted his wise words. She had wanted to see him hold her daughter, the oldest person she knew holding the youngest.

Would it have gotten so bad, if she had been able to talk to Schmeil, burning through long distance minutes, as past, present and future danced between the phone line. Could Schmeil have talked her down?

"I miss Schmeil," Ziva whispered, the words slipping out before she had a chance to stop them.

Tony looked up at her with a soft smile.

"Me too," he said softly.

A quiet brewed between them. Tony looked back at the list making sense of what had been written.

"I want to start running again," Ziva whispered, as she pointed to the first point on the list. "I would like to lose the baby weight."

Talia had gone back to sleep in Ziva's arms.

"You're beautiful," Tony breathed. "You just had a baby, give yourself a break."

"It's not about how I look," Ziva whispered, as the words forced themselves through her. "It is about being strong. That is what really helped before. When I left NCIS, I made sure I ran every day. When I feel physically strong, I feel mentally stronger. I think if I exercised more, I would feel more like myself."

Tony nodded.

"Okay," Tony said as touched Talia's bare foot. It was too warm for baby shoes.

"I thought when you come home," Ziva said softly. "I could go then, while the weather is nice. I know you take Talia so I can rest, but I do not rest. I do like having that time, some days I watch the clock waiting for you to come home."

Tony frowned.

"I miss her so much when I'm at work all day," Tony said softly, as he touched the baby's chubby ankle. "That's why I take her when I get home. Maybe, we can go for walks on the weekend as well. I know I've been skipping the gym."

Ziva smiled, as Tony patted his own stomach.

"I would like that," Ziva whispered, as she imagined the three of them walking toward the park near the house. Talia in the stroller. Tony pushing the stroller. Ziva feeling the sun on her skin, as the diaper bag hung off her shoulder.

It was a simple image, but Ziva clung to it.

Take the baby outside, had been one of her goals.

Tony looked back over the list, eyes fixed on the second item on the second list.

Make a plan for going back to work.

"Let's start talking about this one," he said, as he pointed to the point.

"I wish I was one of those mothers," Ziva started, feeling that big bubble of shame roll through her, "Who are happy with just being a mother, and I love her so much, but I need something else."

She had never imagined herself as a stay-at-home mother, but she could not imagine going back to work when Talia was still so small. The options she had been given put her been between a rock and a hard place.

How she had longed for some happy medium. A six month maternity leave, with a job to go back to.

Still, she knew she was lucky. Other families did not have the same choices, or the same financial cushion.

He nodded. Letting her speak.

He was taking it so well.

Making it so easy.

"Not right away," she continued, "I do not think it would be a good idea to add more stress. But maybe, in a few months I could find something part-time. I do not know what we would do for childcare. I just think if I worked I would feel more normal."

Tony reached for her hand, and squeezed it.

Since she had gotten pregnant, everything had been turned on her head. She had to give up her body and her job. She did not have anything more to give.

"Yeah," he said, wearing the same smile Ziva had fallen in love with over a decade ago. "Maybe, we could talk to Dad, he loves hanging out with her."

Ziva looked back at the list.

Work toward leaving the baby with someone other than Tony.

That would be another hurdle she would have to jump, before going back to work.

Tony made it sound so easy.

She would get to the point where she could just leave Talia with his father a couple of mornings a week. Or even with someone who was currently a stranger.

Maybe, it could all be so easy.

"Maybe," Ziva offered, with a promise to try.

She had been caught in the fog for so long, could the path out really be so clear.

Talia woke, and started to babble. Ziva adjusted the baby so she was sitting up.

Tony leaned forward and pressed kisses on both Ziva and Talia.

"It's all going to be okay," Tony repeated yet again.

And, Ziva finally started to believe it.

Just as she was about to say something, there was a knock at the door, and Ziva's doctors voice carried through.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

I know this chapter included some problematic attitudes to using antidepressants, which I debated including, but I do wholly believe would have been in character for the Ziva in earlier seasons. It's a dangerous viewpoint. Don't use this fic as a justification not to take your meds.

Thanks for the kind words, reviews, faves etc.

Next chapter will be up next week. We're in the final stretch of this mess of a fic, which is the longest thing I've ever written. Thank you to everyone who has been a part of the journey so far.


	37. One Step At A Time

Ziva let out a heavy breath as she reached the fence line that separated her driveway and the neighbours. The Singh's, her favourite neighbours with a boy who was nearly two years old, were out. They were often out, taking little son out to explore the city. Ziva wanted to be that sort of parent, touring playgrounds and children's museums, and watching as her child fell in love with the world.

Ziva took in a breath. It burnt as it ran down to her lungs. She was so out of shape.

Her calves burnt, with the familiar pain of lactic acid.

She had never been this unfit before.

Her feet ached. The new shoes she had brought, because pregnancy had permanently changed her feet, pinched.

The sports bra, which had been kept in a box on a shelf in the closet since early in the pregnancy, was tight on her chest. Like a cage.

She should have brought a new bra too.

Yet braving a clothing store was not a task she was not quite ready to face.

The shoes could have at least been ordered online, and delivered to her doorstep by a company named for a vast river.

Ziva bounced on her feet, and inched toward her own driveway. It had been just over an hour, since she left the house, the active wear sitting tight on her body.

She was wobbly in places that had never been wobbly. She would never wear an itty-bitty bikini again. So much had changed.

Tony had the nerve to look at her with bedroom eyes, the other night as they walked up the stairs to retire for the evening. She had felt that electricity, when he touched the small of her back, but they had not gone any further. Things were still so tentative.

 _Soon_ she had promised him with her own longing look.

Soon she would feel like herself. Soon she would be ready to share herself.

Ziva hesitated at the top of the driveway.

 _Take as long as you need_ , Tony had said sleepily, as Ziva laid Talia next to him on their bed, and she laced up her shoes.

Talia was milk drunk. Tony was drunk on his love for Talia.

Ziva needed some time to herself. She needed a break before the dark cloud hung over her whole day.

Running had always been where Ziva found solitude. She was not one for sitting still, and thinking. Running was moving meditation.

She jogged down the driveway, intending to go through the house via the door on the porch. She and Tony so seldom used the front door, that Ziva wondered if it had become stuck. The backdoor, opened out into their small backyard, and was mere steps to the garage.

Even now, as they took Talia on her daily walks, they used the backdoor. It was easier to maneuver the stroller on the wider steps. Ziva had come to love those walks. The feeling of the sun on her arms, as she watched Tony push the stroller, and they talked. Sometimes they talked about little things like how pretty the neighbours front yard was, sometimes they talked about the bigger things like how much of a shock having a baby had really been, and how they felt that no one really prepared them for that.

They were finally talking, and that was what mattered most.

Ziva reached the back porch, and moved up the steps, and into the house.

The stroller was standing in the corner, next to the love seat that Ziva liked to sit on with a book. Ziva sat down on the love seat and kicked off her running shoes.

"That you," Tony called out. "Ziva?"

Ziva looked toward the inside of the house.

"Yes," Ziva called back.

It had been eleven days since she had finally told Tony the truth about her mental state. Eleven days since the doctor prescribed the pills that made her mouth dry, and promised to take the edge off. In those eleven days, each time she woke, she felt a little lighter. Each day it got marginally better.

Ziva stepped over the threshold and into the house. The kitchen was the same mess it was when she left, with an extra baby bottle on the counter by the sink. There was a fresh basket of laundry sitting on the dining table.

Housekeeping had fallen by the wayside since two had become three.

Ziva tried not to stress about the state of her house.

"Good run?" Tony asked.

Ziva looked for him, and found him lying on the brightly coloured playmat they had brought for Talia, Talia was lying on his chest. Her legs kicking out, indicating that she was awake.

Ziva felt a smile reach up to her ears. If she had thought about it sooner, she would have grabbed her phone for a picture.

"Yes," she said, as she bent down in front of them, feeling the burn in her thighs. "What is this?"

Tony smiled. That thousand watt smile. She had loved that sweet smile for over a decade.

Talia looked at her with her wide eyes.

"Tummy time," Tony offered.

Ziva laughed. Tony smiled. Talia babbled.

"I do tummy time a little differently," Ziva announced.

She had been left alone with the baby for the first time since the diagnosis the day before, while Tony had gone to help McGee with wedding business. Gibbs injury, McGee's unexpected promotion and the unplanned pregnancy, had put the McCouple behind in their planning.

Both Tony and Ziva had been nervous.

 _Call me,_ Tony had said as he lingered in the doorway of their bedroom. _If you need anything._

Despite their nerves the morning had gone well. Talia had napped and then enjoyed some tummy time. Ziva had done a load of laundry, and written in her journal, making sense of all the feelings that were swimming around in her head.

Journalling, had been something that she had done when she first joined the team. When the horrors of the cases they worked, gnawed at her sipirit and made her soul ached. By writing she found peace. She worked through everything the cases opened up in her. She had found peace.

When she had laid down her guns, she had laid down her pen. The journals removed from the office she had passed onto Ellie, lived in a box in the storage room in the basement.

Now, she had picked up her pen, and let it glide over the new notebook she had brought during one of her first solo trips to the store with the baby.

The first few days had involved short entries, rating the day as good or bad, and one sentence about the baby or Tony. The fog had stolen the words both in her mouth, and her head.

 _Tony loves her so easily. I want that._

 _I love her so much._

Now, the entries were longer. She wrote about Gibbs, and how he had been released from the hospital, and signed the forms for medically-induced retirement. He would always walk with a limp. There would always be a dull ache in his shoulder. How there was a spreadsheet that McGee had circulated between the family, making sure that someone was with Gibbs' overnight, and that he had rides to and from his various physio appointments. She wrote that she worried how Gibbs was taking this. He was used to being so independent. The job had been his life, and now it was taken from him. Perhaps a fog would hang over him for a while too.

Ziva also unpacked her feelings when she was in the throes of the depression. Feeling caught, like a fish in a net. Feeling lost, without an identity beyond mother. Feeling alone, despite everything Tony did for her.

By writing. She felt less alone.

Her mother had been a writer. Her journals stored under the bed in a box, next to the suitcase that her father packed when her mother kicked him out.

Her mother's journals had been filled with fury, and anguish.

 _This man has taken everything from me. I pray my daughters will never live like this. So beholden to a man who just does not care._

Ziva had only discovered the fury in those long days after her mother's funeral. The journals had been then locked up in Aunt Nettie's cosy little apartment, away from the daughters Rivka David left behind.

Ziva did not know where her mother's scribbles were now.

Probably rotting in a landfill outside Tel Aviv.

Ziva's mother was gone. Forever.

Even her mother's words were gone.

Schmeil had been a writer. His thoughts had been read by many. His thoughts outlived him.

Ziva kept his books, so she could hold a piece of him. So she could feel his wisdom.

"I like it this way," Tony said, as Talia pressed her hand onto his cheek. "It's a nice view."

Ziva smiled, and bent down so she was squatting. She rubbed Talia's back.

Talia babbled. She was such a happy child.

"The weather is nice today," Ziva announced, as she moved so that she was laying next to them. The mat, made of soft fabric and plastic combination, that was designed to be easily washable. It make crunching noises as Ziva laid down. "Warm, but a nice breeze."

It was warm but not yet thick with humidity like it would be by the end of the month.

The humidity was coming. Ziva wondered how Talia would cope with the stickiness.

Ziva wondered how she would cope if Talia was grumpy.

"Okay," Tony said, as he moved slightly, holding onto Talia as he did.

Ziva reached for Talia.

Talia's little fist made contact with Ziva's lips.

Ziva laughed. Tony laughed.

Tony lifted Talia up, and over, before placing her on Ziva's chest. Talia was heavy, but Ziva felt full.

Talia babbled. Ziva studied her tiny nose and perfect little lips.

"I'm going back to work tomorrow," Tony said as he pushed himself up so he was sitting.

Ziva nodded.

She had enjoyed having him around.

They were safe as a family of three.

The two of them could surround Talia, so nothing could hurt her.

They would always protect her.

"Do you want me to ask Dad to stop by?" Tony asked, as he reached under the OSU shirt he slept in, and scratched his stomach.

Talia pressed her hand onto Ziva's face. Ziva kissed each of the little fingers, and her thumb.

I love you, Motek. Every single inch of you. I love you so much.

Did Talia know how loved she was?

Ziva carefully extracted Talia's hand, so she could talk.

"He is coming over on Tuesday, no?" Ziva said.

At Friday dinner, the day after an afternoon in the doctor's office where everything had come out of the shadows, Tony had tentatively asked if Senior might like to come over on Tuesday afternoons to help with the baby. Senior had said yes before Tony had finished asking. Father and son had flashed matching smiles.

Senior would do anything for more baby snuggles.

"Yeah," Tony said, as he moved back slightly, so he could lean on the sofa. "But, nine hours is a long day."

Ziva looked at the baby. Her dark brown eyes were a mirror of Ziva's. The baby looked so much like her mother.

"Especially," Tony said, as he swallowed thickly. "Home alone."

Ziva rubbed Talia's back.

"I need to get used to it," Ziva announced, as she drew circles on Talia's back. "I do not think it will feel like before."

She would not clock watch, waiting for Tony to get home. She would not worry about Tony getting caught in an accident. She would not check Talia's temperature dozens of times a day.

Tony's face flashed with fear.

"I can probably take some more time," he offered.

He could not, not without a serious meeting with HR.

Technically, they could float a job loss, Eli had left her with a vast fortune meant to be split into three, but Ziva would not forgive herself if this weakness cost him his job.

"No," Ziva said softly. "I do not feel like I did before. I am getting better."

Tony nodded.

"You can call me," Tony said softly. "If things get too much, you can call me."

Ziva pressed a kiss into Talia's hair.

"I know," Ziva whispered. "I think it will be okay."

Talia wriggled on Ziva's chest. Ziva scooped her up, and lightly placed her on the mat.

Talia seemed shocked by the sudden change of terrain. The baby balled her tiny little fists, and kicked out. Not happy. Then quickly, Talia adjusted to her new terrain, and tried to lift her head high up.

Tony smiled. Ziva smiled.

"I was so worried," Tony admitted, as he ran his hand over his face. "Before."

Guilt stewed in Ziva's stomach.

"Sorry," she said quickly.

She had made such a mess.

She had to clean it up.

No more bad days.

"No," he said, as he looked back at the baby. "It's not your fault. I just wish I could have done more. Helped more. I never knew if I was helping you in the right way."

Ziva pulled herself up, walked to the other side of the playmat and sat back down on the floor, sitting next to him. She pressed her hand onto his legs. Centering herself.

"You were such a help," Ziva whispered, assuring him. "Even when I did not know how to ask for it."

Tony let out a breath. Ziva could feel it on her neck.

"At the group," Ziva started, even though she was not supposed to talk about group outside of group. "There are women whose husbands are not so understanding."

She had gone to the group in a musty church basement the previous Wednesday. The babies were lined up in their strollers, with a pair of baby faced volunteer's keeping an eye on them.

The other mothers, many who looked just like her, haggard and worn, had gathered around, as a social worker talked about self care.

After the information session, Ziva had stood on the edge of the group, with a cup of cheap tea. She was the only one without her baby because Talia was with Tony. The other mothers were talking. Many were already friends.

Ziva heard clippings of conversations.

Husbands who just did not get it.

Those nagging feelings of guilt.

Feeling like they were a terrible mother in a world filled with perfect mothers, who loved every smelly diaper and midnight feed.

She was not like these women, and yet like them at the same time.

Ziva had slipped out, leaving the tea behind. She had needed to get home to her own baby.

Not knowing if she would be back next week, with her own stroller.

She had at least joined the social media group, having to reactivate her long dormant profile on the website the group was hosted on.

Tony wrapped his arm around her, bringing her back into the present.

"Thank you," she whispered softly. "For being so patient with me."

Tony pulled her closer. Tighter.

Talia tried to lift her head to them.

"Like I could do anything else," Tony said.

Love is patient. Love is kind.

Talia strained in her position.

Ziva thought of a baby foal she had seen once, when she was staying with her Uncle and his horses.

The mother horse had stayed close, waiting for its offspring to find its feet. It had hovered as the foal shook, but it had not stepped in.

Something came over Talia, and her happy demeanor suddenly replaced by crying.

Ziva lunged forward, and pick up Talia. The baby was comforted by the closeness. So was Ziva.

Who needed this more, she wondered.

"It's okay sweetheart," Tony said, as he reached for her and touched her curls. "I know you don't love tummy time, but it's good for you."

Talia's whimpers softened.

Ziva rocked the tiny creature, as she borrowed closer to Ziva.

Talia calmed, and Tony patted the baby's soft curls.

"Now that you've made your opinions about tummy time known," Tony whispered to the baby, "Shall we give Ima her present?"

Ziva looked at Tony. Confusion etched on her face.

"My present?" Ziva asked.

Tony pulled himself up on the couch, and stood for a moment. He tugged at his boxers, and Ziva noticed a hole in them.

So much had fallen by the wayside since Talia was born.

"Yeah," he said, as he bent down to pick up the baby, so that Ziva could get up. "It be kinda crappy if you didn't get a present for your first Mother's day. McDaddy got his bride flowers, and their kid is still on the inside."

Ziva pulled herself up on the couch, and felt the ache of her muscles. She promised herself she would take it easy over the next few days.

"Mothers day," she repeated, with the same concentration she had once used to practice new idioms.

Suddenly, she remembered construction paper and little hands scribbling I love you mother in all the languages she knew. Mother's day was not so commercialised in Israel, but each year the kindergarten children decorated cards, and put their muddy hands on their mothers skirts.

Other countries celebrate their mothers with pure commercialism. The Ziva who lived in the shadows, seldom set foot in a shopping mall, and so when after her mother died, it was easy to ignore.

Then, when she moved to the US, and started to put down roots, the day became harder to ignore. There were advertisements reminding busy adult children to buy cards and send flowers. Each year, McGee sent both his mother and grandmother flowers. By her second year, Ziva learnt to avoid the shopping malls in late April and early May. Not that she visited them often anyway.

It helped that the family, she had attached herself to, had many motherless children. The day passed without much note. Occasionally, Jimmy and McGee reminded each other of the day, but always in hushed whispers, so they did not hurt their friends for whom the day was another reminder of what and who was missing.

"Yeah," Tony said, as the two of them faced each other. "It kinda snuck up on me this year, I haven't really had a reason to celebrate it for the last forty years."

Tony placed a kiss on Talia's cheek. She squirmed.

Ziva looked at him.

He had been just eight years old when his mother died.

So impossibly young.

Too young for it not to leave scars.

"We'll be more prepared next year," Tony whispered to the baby. "Won't we, kid?"

Ziva wondered what things would look like in a years time.

In the last two months, Ziva's sense of time had been protracted. Each day felt endlessly long. Ziva felt that she would be stuck in a groundhog day of early parenthood forever. Talia would never sleep through the night. Breastfeeding would never feel natural. Ziva would be trapped in at home with the baby forever.

Now, as the fog lifted. She could start to imagine the future again.

This time next year, Talia would be an active toddler. Likely walking and talking. Maybe, Ziva would have a part-time job. Maybe, they would talking about giving Talia a sibling, because they had always planned children in plural. Even after everything, Ziva still wanted to have another child at some point.

Perhaps, if she had another child, she would get to have the soft newborn haze that books promised. She would get to be a good mother from the beginning this time. She would not make Tony worry.

This time next year Talia would have a new playmate in Delilah and McGee's child.

Perhaps the two families would celebrate the day together, with Tony and Ziva able to impart their parenting wisdom to Tim and Delilah, while they shared a picnic or a barbecue on the deck of the David-DiNozzo dreamhouse.

There would be joy. Ziva promised herself that. Whatever the next year looked like there would be joy.

"I did not even know it was mother's day," Ziva announced, as she grabbed Talia from Tony. "You did not have to do anything."

Tony looked at her.

"I did," Tony whispered, as he bounced on his feet. "It's been a long time since I've had a reason to celebrate mother's day, and I'm glad we finally have a reason too."

Talia babbled, not wanting to be left out of her parents conversation.

Ziva wondered if her daughter knew how much she was loved. How much she had been wanted. How her parents had wondered if she would ever join them.

"I'll make you breakfast too," Tony said softly, as he turned and walked toward the back of their house. He paused at the top of the stairs to the basement. "Or we could go out, if you want."

Ziva looked at her exercise outfit, and then at Tony. He had pulled an old OSU shirt over his boxers when he had gotten up that morning. It would take a lot for the two of them to be ready to leave the house, especially with a ten week old.

"Maybe," Ziva said, as she adjusted Talia's position on her hip, and padded toward the kitchen.

Tony disappeared down the stairs of the basement.

They had lived in the house for close to two years, but Ziva seldom went down into the basement. She was a lifelong apartment dweller, and was still getting used to all the stairs. Tony had been more than happy to take over the basement, turning the nook behind the stairs into a movie room, affixing a shelving unit form a Swedish furniture store along the longest wall. He had visions of turning the main space into a playroom, for when the snow blanketed their yard.

"What have you and your father been plotting?" she asked the baby, as they moved behind the kitchen island.

Talia as expected did not respond. Instead the baby managed to get her tiny hand caught in a curl that had fallen loose from Ziva's messy bun. Ziva reached for her daughter's chubby little hand, and extracted it. Talia pursed her lips, not sure if she liked her mother destroying her fun.

"I love you," Ziva whispered softly. "I love you so much."

There was a creak on the stairs, whatever Tony had hidden down there, was easily picked up.

Ziva opened the fridge, and looked at its contents. She or Tony would need to brave a visit to the grocery store before the day was out.

Ziva closed the fridge, and found Tony standing at the top of the stairs, with a large bouquet of flowers and a card.

"Happy Mother's Day," Tony announced as he thrust the flowers in front of her.

Ziva balanced Talia on her hip, and took the flowers with her spare hand.

The bottom of the stems were wet, Tony had stored them in water, and near sun. Perhaps under that window, they said they were going to turn into a reading nook. The bouquet was large, and filled with spring colours; pink, purple, and yellow. It was a mix of carnations, tulips, and wildflowers.

"These are lovely," she said, as she moved toward the dining table.

Tony nodded, and followed her still holding the card.

"I bought them yesterday," he said, "I wasn't sure how they would hold up."

Tony pulled a chair out, for Ziva to sit down. Carefully, while balancing Talia, she lowered herself into the seat, and placed Talia on her lap.

The baby snuggled close. Ziva felt a warmth was over her.

Tony took the flowers and moved back towards the kitchen island.

"Let's find some water," Tony declared. "And, decide what to have for breakfast."

Talia was getting heavier on Ziva's lap. She was going to fall asleep.

Tony busied himself in the kitchen. A vase was found in one of the high up cupboards that they never used. The vase was filled with water, and the flowers were placed in the vase that Ziva had forgotten they owned.

Tony opened and closed the fridge, and turned to Ziva.

"Did you read the card?' Tony asked, as he leaned on the kitchen island, and looked over at the fruit bowl, it was empty except for a banana that was mostly brown.

They would need to go out for breakfast out of necessity.

The oven clock blinked at them. When they finally got out of the house, and it was always a mission to get out of the house with a baby, it would be in time for a late lunch.

Ziva looked down at Talia, who had slipped into sleep. She reached across the table and picked up the card. She ran her finger along the envelope to open it, and plucked the card. It was a simple card with purple flowers and Happy Mother's Day written in gold cursive writing.

"How hungry are you?" Tony asked.

Ziva shrugged.

She could wait.

"We should probably go to the grocery store," Tony said, with a sigh. "We really should sign up for the click and collect thing that they do."

She opened the card, and not knowing what to expect. She and Tony might consider their child to be the smartest baby ever, but Ziva knew she would not have been able to write anything in the card.

On the blank side of the card, there was a shape that looked a little like Talia's hand when it was flattened. Ziva smiled, as she imagined Tony drawing around Talia's little hand.

On the side with the message Ziva found Tony's messy scrawl

 _To the bestest Ima in the world_

 _Happy mothers day_

 _Love_

 _Talia xo_

Ziva felt her mouth dry.

"Why did you do this?" she asked, as she waved the card in front of Tony.

Tony looked up from the list he was writing on his phone.

"What do you mean?" he asked, as he left his phone on the counter and walked toward the dining table.

Ziva waved the card again.

"The message," Ziva said.

Tony frowned.

"All the stores had cards," Tony said softly. "I am the card companies dream, I was buying the card the day before the big event. I was gonna sign the card from me, and write about how I love having a kid with you, and how proud of you I am, but then when I was writing the card and the baby was doing tummy time, I got the idea to sign it from her. She's the reason we're celebrating after all."

Tony sat down at the dining chair opposite Ziva.

"I thought it would make you smile," Tony declared, as he reached for her hand.

Ziva sucked in a deep breath. Her eyes welled up. She had thought she was done with the crying.

"I am not the bestest Ima," she whispered. "Far from it."

Tony rubbed her wrist.

"You are," he said softly. "I really can't wait for you to start seeing that."

Ziva looked down at her baby.

What did Talia make of this?

Had she sensed Ziva's anxiety?

"I wanted her so much," Ziva said, her lips quivering. "And, then when she came everything felt wrong. I resented her for how much she changed everything."

She watched as Tony breathed in and out. Making sense of her words.

"I love her," Ziva whispered. "And, I feel better now, I feel like I am starting to enjoy my time with her, but I have not been a good mother."

Talia twitched in her sleep.

"You are the only mother she knows," he whispered, as he moved even closer. "And, she loves you. To her you are the bestest mother. I didn't mean for the card to cause such a reaction. I should have just signed it from me."

Depression lies to you, Ziva reminded herself.

"I am sorry," Ziva said, as she looked down at the baby. "I thought I was getting better."

The new routine for both mother and child, the pills, and the extra visits from Senior, they were all supposed to make it feel better.

For the most part they had. The pills had taken the edge off as the doctor had promised. The daily walks, and every other day runs were helping her feel physically strong which in turn made feel mentally strong. She was always happy to see Senior.

The fog had lifted, but some of it still lingered.

Tony got up from his seat, and wrapped his arms around her.

"From where I'm sitting," he said softly. "You are getting better. You seem lighter, and it's my favourite thing when I see you playing with the baby. You remember what the doctor said, there would be good days and bad. Today is just a bad day."

Just a bad day.

There had been so many bad days.

She pressed her face into Tony's shirt.

"Maybe Dad should stop by for lunch tomorrow," Tony said as he stepped back from the hug, and sat back in the chair.

Ziva looked at the baby, and then at Tony.

"Or I could meet him somewhere," Ziva said, as she took some steadying breaths. "It will be good to get out."

The thought of putting Talia into the car seat, and driving alone with her, filled her with fear, but she knew she would white knuckle it.

She could not spend her life imprisoned in her house.

She needed to get better.

Tony nodded.

"Yeah," Tony said softly. "There's that nice park near Dad's place, and that coffee shop that sells those danishes. Do you remember those danishes?"

The coffee shop was on the same block as Senior's apartment, and when the apartment had still been Tony's apartment, the two of them had often enjoyed treats from the coffee shop. When Senior moved in and they still lived closer to him, they often stopped into the shop to bring pastries to go with their Sunday lunch.

Ziva looked down at Talia who was still asleep, using Ziva's soft belly as pillow.

She was supposed to be losing the baby weight, wanting to look good in the pictures that would be taken at Delilah and McGee's wedding, but surely she and Senior could go halves on a danish. Senior was supposed to be watching what he ate too.

"We will bring some home for you," Ziva announced, as she took Talia's little hand in hers. "I know you like them."

Tony smiled.

"Only one," he said, patting his own belly. "The suit McGee wants me in for the wedding is getting a little tight."

Ziva smiled at him.

The heaviness that had come over her as she read the card had lifted away. The darkness would not hang over her all day like it used.

Tony patted Ziva's hand.

"Did you see Jimmy's message?" Tony asked. "About the beach house."

For the last few years, Jimmy's brother and his school age daughter had driven down from their home in a college town in New England, to spend Memorial Day weekend with Jimmy, Breena and now little Tori. The holiday was always somewhere on the Delaware coast, where Jimmy and his brother had spent vacations as children. Their mother also came down to spend the weekend with her grandchildren.

This year, Jimmy's brother's ex-wife had needed to make a sudden change the custody arrangement, and Jimmy's brother and mother had both made alternate plans. So, Jimmy and Breena had a whole beach house to themselves, one they had already paid the non-refundable deposit for, on what would have been one of the most expensive weekends of the year. Jimmy had put out the offer, to anyone who wanted to go halves with him on the booking cost, to join them, for a vacation which would also include a child who was the definition of the terrible twos. The other guests, would need to be another family.

"Yes," Ziva said, "It is a shame his brother cannot come down."

Talia twitched again. Ziva ran her fingers along the baby's soft skin.

"Why don't we go with them?" Tony asked. "It'll be nice to get away."

Ziva put her hand over Talia's little hand, which was spread like a starfish.

"I looked up where they've booked," Tony said, as he got up from the table, and padded toward the kitchen to collect his phone. "It's a nice area, there's a couple of places to eat, and the house is like a block from the beach, so it won't be too far if Talia doesn't want to nap at the beach."

He had thought about this. A lot.

Ziva was the one in their relationship who tended to plan. She liked to have contingency, if something went wrong. It was something left over from planning missions where if something went wrong, someone's life would be on the line. Tony preferred to play things by ear. Especially for something as minor as a weekend away.

The research had been for her. Too soothe her worries.

He opened up his phone, and after a few taps, he brought up the listing for the holiday rental. From a picture taken in one of the upstairs bedrooms there was a sea view. There was another picture of a huge deck with a barbecue in front of a large outdoor dining set.

"It looks nice," Ziva said softly.

Her mind drifted back to almost a whole year ago, to a video of Tori Palmer in a ruffled swimsuit as Jimmy dipped her feet into the water. Tori's squeals echoed from her tinny cell phone speakers in Schmeil's still apartment. It had been the breath of life in the rooms of death.

She looked down at the baby. The baby she had only just found out about when she watched that video.

So much had changed in less than a year.

How would Talia react to the cold ocean water?

Would she shriek as the wave broke at her tiny feet?

Would she grimace at the gritty texture of sand?

"I thought we could drive up on Saturday," Tony continued, as he pulled up the maps app on his phone. "It takes two and a half hours, I figure we'll probably have to stop, so if we aim to get there for lunch time, and then we'll play it by ear for the drive home. We'll probably hit some crazy holiday traffic, so if we plan for that we should be okay. Work is usually quiet the week after a holiday, I might get away with being a little late on the Tuesday."

Ziva looked at him. He was smiling.

"Do you think Talia will like the beach?" Ziva asked.

Tony looked down at her.

"There's only one way to find out," Tony said, as he pulled up the details for the beach house again.

Ziva nodded.

"It's only two and a half hours away," Ziva said, feeling the heaviness again. "So if it gets too much we are not too far away.."

Tony frowned. He wanted to imagine a happy weekend away.

"Yeah," he said softly. "It's away but not too far away."

Ziva nodded, liking how he described it.

"This will be good," Ziva said, as she reached out for his hand. "I like the beach."

Those summers in Haifa came back to her. The taste of the salt as the waves broke. Her mother, with a huge sun hat on and her nose in a book. The summer friend she had when the visited. How their difference in religion did not matter when they ran into the deep blue sea. Shrieking while their mothers watched on.

She always had happy memories at the beach.

Tony smiled. A huge thousand watt smile. The smile she fell in love with a little more each day.

Would it be something her daughter inherited?

"Yeah, me too," Tony said softly. "It's gonna be a fun weekend."

And, Ziva believed him.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Initially the plan was to have a chapter featuring Tony and Gibbs, and Gibbs coming to terms with likely retirement and the difference between giving up the badge, and having it taken away. That chapter would have also explored Tony feeling shut out when Ziva was going through the worst of her depression. However, I could not get the words to work, and this fic really is Tony and Ziva's story. By cutting that chapter, we did get a slightly longer one here. Some of those themes will be explored later. This chapter is very much a filler chapter, allowing things to move forward, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Next chapter will feature Senior, and will be up next week.

Thank you for all your love, kind words and reviews.


	38. Just Before The Sunset

Tony smiled as he walked from the short path from the garage to the back porch. It was warm, in that perfect way it usually was in the middle of May. One of Tony's less fashion focused colleagues who did not have any certifications to do, had been walking around in dress shorts, short sleeve shirt, and ancient tie looking like he was a mail carrier. Tony had settled for rolling up his shirt sleeves, and complaining about the poor quality air conditioning.

Fletc had a much more standard dress code than NCIS, but the expensive tailored suits he had worn before, now gathered dust in his closet. Not that he would have time to pick up dry cleaning these days.

Tony pulled at the door of his porch, and smiled. He was home. All of the work stress, and complaints about his delayed commute disappeared. He left work early on Friday's but had still spent over ninety minutes in his car. His shoulders stopped aching. His jaw unclenched.

All that mattered was that he was home.

For so long he had wanted to build a home, and now he had one.

He was going home to his wife, and his daughter, the two people that mattered most.

It was Friday, and his home was going to be opened to other people he loved. The table would be full. Food and laughter would be shared until long into the night.

Tony stepped up into the kitchen. The backpack hanging off his shoulders. His car keys in his hand.

Home smelt like the loaf of slightly burnt challah that was cooling on the kitchen island. Home looked like the five place mats laid out on the dining table. Home sounded like the babbling of his daughter, and the laughter of his father.

"Look who it is, Talia?" Senior asked the baby, using the same sing song voice they all used with the baby. "Is it Daddy?"

Senior was holding her in his arms. The cradle hold, all the parenting books called it. Senior and Talia looked each other in the eyes. Senio was all smiles.

Tony dumped his backpack on the floor next to the dining table, his keys on the table, and walked toward his father and his daughter.

"Hi baby," he whispered, as he plucked Talia from Senior's arms. "I missed you so much."

Tony pulled the baby up, so she was resting on his shoulder. Her chest was touching it. The warmth he felt when he held her filled him.

Talia snuggled closer.

Tony pressed a kiss onto her head. Her skin was so impossibly soft.

She was the most precious thing in his life.

"Where's Ziva?" Tony asked, his voice now more neutral.

Senior pulled himself up from the dining chair, using the table, and walked toward the fridge. Tony followed, carrying Talia.

Senior pointed to the ceiling. Tony then noticed the sound of water running through the pipes.

He loved his eighty year old house, which was he considered a just right size, but he lived in near constant fear of a plumbing emergency.

The dishwasher hummed. Tony noticed that the oven was on.

Ziva had talked about making either moussaka or pesto for dinner, it looked like she had gone with moussaka. Especially, as they were feeding more than the usual three.

Tony rested his hand under Talia's diaper and adjusted her position on his shoulder.

Senior opened the fridge and produced a container of what Tony knew could only be homemade hummus. Ziva did not buy store bought hummus. Senior and Ziva had been busy today. Senior then produced a plate of vegetables that had been cut into near uniform shapes, and a punnet of cherry tomatoes. None of those vegetables had been in the fridge that morning.

Senior and Ziva had been very busy.

"Dinner for six today," Senior declared. "If we count the baby."

Tony rubbed Talia's little back.

Gibbs and Fornell were joining them for Friday dinner. Gibbs had been home from the hospital for a week, and the others took turns sleeping on Gibbs couch, and chauffeuring him to and from his physical and psychological therapy appointments. Fornell with his newly flexible work hours, and daughter away in Europe for the summer, had practically moved into Gibbs little craftsman cottage.

"Have I met this Fornell?" Senior asked.

Tony paused for a moment and tried to think if Senior had. Fornell was Gibbs more than his.

"I don't think so," Tony said, as he pulled the baby off of his shoulder, and into the cradle hold, so that he could see her. "His Mom was Italian."

Senior smiled.

"Well then," Senior said, with a nod. "We better show him a good time."

Senior walked across the kitchen, and peaked into the oven. Senior fiddled with the controls.

"What did you guys do today?" Tony asked, as he rocked the baby.

Senior closed the oven door, and walked toward the kitchen island.

"We had a busy day today, didn't we Princess?" Senior declared, as he looked at the baby.

The water upstairs turned off.

Tony scanned their busy living room. It was tidier than it usually was, with the piles of clean laundry either sorted out, or more likely hidden in the laundry room. The couch cushions had been fluffed and there was no baby paraphernalia on the coffee table.

"Though the baby slept through most of it," Senior continued, as he reached over the island and picked up a cherry tomato, which he put in his mouth. "We went to that fancy grocery store."

Senior picked up the chopping board that had the challah on it, and moved it to the counter on the other side of the kitchen.

They lived within a five minute drive of multiple low price grocery stores, including one attached to a big box store, which meant Tony could get baby items along with salad mix. The fancy grocery store, had been something they had discovered when they were driving around looking for another open home. Both of their eyes had gone wide, with excitement, and they had stopped by after leaving the open home that was not their dream home. They had strolled through the grocery store, picking up food for a picnic, to eat on the way to the next open home. That next home had turned out to be they brought.

It had not been until they were living in their new house for a month, that they realised the grocery store was not too far away. More than once, during their busy first year of marriage, where Ziva was scrambling to finish her degree, and Tony was bringing the dreamhouse into the twenty-first century, all why they were trying for a baby, the two of them had strolled around the fancy grocery store and called it a date.

How suburban they had become, but definitely not boring.

"It's nice there," Tony said, as he rocked Talia slightly. "Who drove there?"

Senior took a carrot stick and dipped into the hummus.

"Ziva did," Senior said. "I still don't know the area too well."

Tony nodded.

He thought of Ziva's goal list scribbled in the doctor's office.

 _I want to take the baby out more_ , she had said as the therapist asked her to explain what she had written. To tailor the goals to the SMART framework.

"Good," Tony said, as he bounced Talia slightly. His voice became softer. "How was Ziva?"

Senior frowned. When Tony and explained Ziva's diagnosis and asked Senior if he would like to come over for dinner on Tuesdays as well as Fridays, Senior had told Tony he would be happy to help, but wouldn't be used as a spy. Tony would need to talk to his wife to gauge how she was feeling.

Still, Senior was the only person except for him who saw Ziva multiple times a week. In the week that had passed, Senior had seen Ziva and Talia three times. The first had been where Ziva and Talia had met Senior at a park close to him, where Senior had brought coffee and sweets. The second had been where Senior came over to help with laundry and hangout. The third their standard Friday dinner.

"Junior," Senior warned.

Tony looked at the baby.

"I know," Tony whispered. "It's just, I worry. It's only been a couple of weeks since we went to the doctor, and I worry."

Every day, when Tony came home, and took the baby into his arms, he would ask Ziva how her day was. Before, when the fog still hung over them, he would be lucky to get a shrug. Now, he got a few words.

Monday and Tuesday had been good days.

Wednesday had been okay. She had gone to the group that her doctor had recommended, and stayed for the coffee afterwards. She had even managed to talk to another mother there, who had a little girl who was two weeks older than Talia.

Thursday had been a bad day. Everything felt off. Talia was hard to settle. The house felt claustrophobic. Eventually, Ziva had gone for a walk and the feelings had started to pass. She had also made a check in appointment with her doctor. She had gone for an extra long run that afternoon, when Tony came home to take the baby.

He needed to know if the fog had hung around.

Senior moved from the other side of the island, so that he and Tony were close enough to hug.

"It was a good day," Senior said with a smile. "Though not for your bank account."

Tony had noticed the new fruit filling the bowl, and knew what Ziva was like in the fancy supermarket. The fridge was probably stacked with that special Greek feta that Ziva had declared to be the best, and tubs of olives. It was salad season.

Tony laughed. Talia babbled.

"You two need a date night or something," Senior said, as he reached out for another cherry tomato. "Seems like you two need to do some talking. I can babysit."

Tony nodded.

Work toward leaving the baby with someone other than Tony.

"We're working on it," Tony declared, as he moved Talia so she was sitting up, and facing Senior.

Senior smiled at the baby. A huge full moon of a smile.

The baby could melt even the hardest heart.

Hopefully some baby snuggles, would help loosen some of the heaviness that hung over Gibbs since the shooting and medically necessitated retirement.

The Friday dinners, which Tony had practically demanded of Gibbs, when he visited Gibbs in the hospital, were supposed to help Gibbs see through the darkness.

"One step at a time," Tony said, as he offered the baby to Senior. "That's what people who know about these things say."

Senior took the baby into his arms. The baby fussed for a moment but then calmed.

"Did Ziva give you your gift?" Tony asked, as he walked around the kitchen island.

He stood in front of the fridge.

Ziva's lists of goals and things that make it feel better, was pinned under the magnet Tony had brought from a stall in Venice, during the Italian trip where Tony had proposed. Under another magnet which featured the save the date details for the McWedding, was Ziva's list of affirmations

 _I am a good mother._

 _I know how to keep my baby safe._

 _My baby loves me._

"Gift?" Senior asked. "My birthday was in February."

Anthony DiNozzo senior's birthday was the day before Valentine's Day. Senior liked to tell people that if he had held on for one more day, his mother would have named her last and late in life child Valentine, or rather Valentina as Nonna DiNozzo was sure her third child would be a girl after two sons. Maybe, if Senior had been a Valentine's Day baby, he would have been more lucky in love.

"I know," Tony said, as he opened the fridge and peaked inside. It seemed that Ziva had brought half the supermarket, and that they would be eating a lot of salad over the next few days. Tony noticed the bowl of salad ready for dinner, and closed the fridge.

Ziva had been busy.

"We went to dinner remember?"Senior said, as he smiled at the baby.

Senior's last birthday had fallen in the last few weeks of Ziva's pregnancy, where Ziva had been loathe to leave the house unless she had too. So father and son had gone to a fancy restaurant in Georgetown for an eight course meal. The meal had been a testament to how far father and son had come, being able to enjoy time together without old wounds being opened.

"I remember," Tony said, as he opened the door of the pantry. He reached up to the high shelf, and found the bottle he was looking for. He pulled the bottle down, and adjusted the gold ribbon that he come loose. "This is a thank you gift."

Tony turned around, and placed the expensive bottle of wine on the island.

"For what?" Senior asked, as he touched the ringlets of the gold ribbon.

Tony smiled.

"For being here," Tony said with a smile. "These last few months, especially the last few weeks had been hard, and you've really helped. I know helping with our laundry isn't the most exciting way to spend a Tuesday afternoon, but we don't know what we would have done without you."

Senior's eyes became wet. The older man looked up to the ceiling, trying to keep the tears at bay.

Talia babbled.

"I'm just happy to be here," Senior said softly. "It's taken me far too long to work it out, but this is what matters."

Senior waved the hand that was not holding Talia to wave around the room.

"For a long time, too long a time, I was chasing the wrong things," Senior continued. "Always the next big deal that was gonna make me rich, or the next woman who was finally going to make it feel like it did with your mother. But, I was wrong, none of that mattered. What matters is that you do something every day that makes the world a better place, and that you go home and spend some time with the people you love. I'm glad you and Ziva learnt that before it was too late."

Tony felt his own lip quiver.

Tony stepped toward Senior, with his arms open.

Talia babbled as Tony wrapped his father in a loose hug.

"Thank you, Dad," Tony said. "Honestly. Thank you."

Senior nodded. Tony grabbed Talia from Senior's arms. Talia twitched, and then settled.

"This is an expensive bottle," Senior announced, as he twisted the bottle around on the island.

Tony nodded.

"You deserve it," Tony declared. "You really did help. When I was told I had to go to Glynco, I was so worried about leaving Ziva alone. I knew something was wrong, but didn't know how to talk about it. Knowing you were there helped."

Tony remembered a case he worked when he was a rookie in Peoria, a mother who drove herself and her four month old baby into a tree. There had been no other cars on the road, and while the event had been ruled an accident, Tony now realised it might not have been so accidental.

Hindsight was always twenty twenty.

This is more common than you think, Ziva's doctor had said when Tony called her for advice.

Tony knew Ziva had not been that unwell, but what could have been still haunted him.

Senior focused on the wine bottle. He flicked the little ringlets of ribbon.

"I wondered," Senior said, as he let out a heavy breath. "If something was wrong. Ziva was suddenly so quiet."

Tony felt the heaviness in his stomach.

The quietness had been what he noticed too. Ziva who just sat there. As if she had imploded.

"I didn't know what I was looking at," Senior said softly, his voice still heavy. "I don't know Ziva that well, and I haven't really been around someone who has just had a baby. When you were born there wasn't the same expectations on fathers, and your Mom had help."

Tony swallowed thickly.

This conversation stung.

Thinking about his mother, hearing about her would always hurt.

He gripped Talia closer.

"I thought I was seeing things," Tony said. "The books warned that sleep deprivation can make you hallucinate."

Senior took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

"I was worried that I was wrong," Senior said. "Or even if I was right, that you'd shoot the messenger."

Tony moved the baby slightly.

"Promise me," Tony said. "That if you think you see something you'll tell me."

Senior nodded.

"I promise," Senior said.

Tony reached across the kitchen island and picked up a carrot stick, while balancing Talia.

"She seems better," Senior whispered. "Lighter."

They were still waiting for the antidepressants to do their thing. The doctor had said it could take four weeks.

Still, Ziva did seem lighter.

Even the bad days were better. They did not linger poisoning the rest of the week.

"Yeah," Tony said.

The storm was starting to dissipate.

A quiet brewed over them. Talia babbled. Tony bounced her.

They had been given a bouncer by their next door neighbours, who were very much in the one and done camp in terms of kids, but every single time Talia was placed in it, she screamed bloody murder.

"Ziva told me about your plans for the long weekend," Senior said, breaking the silence.

Tony rubbed Talia's back, and smiled.

Ziva had been talking about the trip more and more. Tony had not seen her this excited for a long time.

She had always liked the ocean.

"Yeah," Tony said. "The house Jimmy rented is like a block away from the beach. It's gonna be really good."

Maybe, some time away was all they needed.

"Good," Senior said.

Tony swallowed thickly.

"What are you doing for the long weekend?" Tony asked.

He always worried about whether his Dad was lonely. He had only lived in DC for a few years, and did not know many people.

Technically the beach house had a spare room, as both the couples were going to keep their kids in their room. Even though Tori slept in her own room at home.

Maybe, he could ask Jimmy.

Breena had always been rather entertained by Senior, when they met at holiday parties.

"I've got plans," Senior announced. "With some ladies."

Tony took a cherry tomato from the plate.

"Please don't say they're with the McMotherInLaw," Tony said.

Senior and Delilah's mother had gone on a handful of dinner dates, when Judy had moved to DC to be closer to her younger daughter. Both McGee and Tony had been squicked out at the time, but nothing had come of it.

"Judy and I are just friends," Senior said. "She is a remarkable woman though."

Tony nodded. Glad he would not have to have an awkward conversation with McGee.

"So, where are you going?" Tony asked. "Or should I ask, who with?"

Senior smiled.

"A DiNozzo does not kiss and tell," Senior said. "But, did I ever tell you about Val, and her roommate Marie."

Tony racked his brain. He knew so little about his Dad's life.

Once everything calmed down with Ziva and the baby, he would make more of an effort to know his father.

"No," Tony admitted, feeling a pang of guilt.

He really should make more of an effort.

"Technically Ziva helped introduce us," Senior said.

Tony raised his eyebrows.

"Val and I met at The Hope Center," Senior reported. "Her and Marie have lived together for years, they've got this Golden Girls thing going on."

Tony smiled at his Dad's reference, though he wondered if it was more of late in life Boston Marriage than a Golden Girls situation.

Ziva had been the one who suggested that Senior do some volunteer work, after complaining that he was bored, and did not know enough people in DC. Abby had been the one to direct him to the Hope Center.

The Hope Center was one of the larger donation center in DC. Senior volunteered two days a week, and helped sort through donations of food for local food pantries, and other seasonal packs such as Christmas presents for kids living in food insecure homes.

"We're just friends," Senior continued. "But, Val has a cookout every memorial day. It'll be her first since they downsized. So we'll be packed in like sardines. We're thinking of taking a trip to Ocean City later in the summer. We might go up to Atlantic City in the fall, Marie's never been. It's not too bad a drive."

Tony smiled. His Dad was building a full life, even this late in the game.

His phone buzzed. Talia started to fuss, so Tony let Senior take her.

"Ssh," Senior said, as Talia started to calm. "We haven't even eaten yet."

Tony shook out his ars, Talia was definitely getting heavier, and reached into his pocket and noted that he needed to charge it. There was a text from Abby mentioning she was in the neighbourhood and asking if there was room for her at the David-DiNozzo dinner table. Tony texted her the affirmative.

There would always be room for Abby.

"Make that dinner for seven," Tony declared, as he waved his phone. He then looked toward the baby. "Aunt Abby's coming over."

Senior smiled. Talia babbled.

"Wow Talia," Senior said in the sing songy voice. "You're going to be all cuddled out."

Tony reached out for the baby, but Senior held her tight.

"Actually Junior," Senior said his voice suddenly getting more serious. "I meant to ask you something, as your tenant."

Tony sucked in a deep breath. They had lowered Senior's rent after their discussion during the holidays. Tony had told Senior not to worry about paying back the missed rent that had caused the confrontation, but often Senior put some extra money into the account where he could.

If Tony and Ziva had not let him live in the old apartment at such a discount rate, each month would be a struggle.

"Okay," Tony said, as he ran his hand through his hair, and pulled at the tips.

He prepared himself for another missed rent check. At least he was being told of it beforehand this time.

"Do you have a pet policy?" Senior asked.

Tony let out a half laugh. A nervous tick.

"Why?" Tony asked.

Senior smiled.

"Well I may have adopted a cat," Senior said, as he bounced Talia slightly. "Or rather a cat has adopted me."

Tony laughed again. This was a relief.

"Did you feed a stray?" Tony asked. "Because your not supposed to do that."

Senior nodded.

"I know," Senior said, "And, I've learnt my lesson. I took him to a vet, he wasn't microchipped. I offered him to Val and Marie but their dog doesn't play well with others."

Tony smiled. Senior 2.0 was an animal person. Tony could remember his childhood requests for a puppy being denied, though that had been the same year his mother started taking long afternoon naps.

It turned out that a leopard could change their spots.

Senior pulled out his phone, and with a single hand opened the phone and brought up a picture of the cat. The cat was fatter than Tony expected of a stray, and was white with black splotches. Between the cats nose and mouth there was a black streak of fur. It looked like the cat had a moustache.

"Did you see the moustache?" Senior asked, as he adjusted Talia. "Ziva thinks I should call him Charlie after Charlie Chaplin."

Of course Ziva had seen pictures of the cat. If he did not let Senior keep the animal, Tony gave it a week before the cat was living in his house. Under all the walls Ziva built, she was a softie.

"I don't think the cat would be a problem," Tony said with a smile. "But, I think Chaplin would be a better name."

Senior nodded.

"Thank you, Junior. It's nice to go home to someone who is happy to see me," Senior said, looking at the baby. "Even hes is only happy to see me because he's hungry."

Tony felt a pain of realisation the pit of his stomach. His Dad had been lonely.

If Tony did not have Ziva, and Talia would his life be heading down the same lonely road.

At least he would have Abby, and the other friends he had cultivated over the last decade and a half. Senior's friends were far flung, or dead.

There was creaking on the stairs. Tony turned around, and saw Ziva walking down the stairs. She was wearing that wrap dress she had brought the previous spring for her graduation and worn well into the second trimester of her pregnancy. Her hair was pulled into a french braid.

She was smiling. The light from the dusk was filling the house. Ziva looked beautiful in the soft light.

"Hi," Tony said, as he walked across the room to greet her. He pressed a kiss onto her cheek, and noticed she was wearing the earrings Tony had brought her on their first Valentine's day together. "Did you get Abby's text?"

It was strange to see her in anything but exercise leggings and those nursing shirts with the weird flaps.

"Hi," she said, as he snaked his arms around her waist. "And yes, it will be good to see her."

Ziva leaned closer. She smelt like coconut shampoo.

"No run today?" He asked.

Ziva shook her head. She was still wearing a smile.

"We went for a walk," Ziva said pointing toward the baby. "While your father kept an eye on the challah. He fell asleep. If Talia had not gotten hungry, the challah would not have been salvageable. "

Tony smiled. That explained the challah being a little more cooked than usual.

His life was like an episode out of a sitcom.

More I Love Lucy than Married With Children, much to his relief.

"He said it was a busy day," Tony said.

He pressed himself closer to her. They were not at a point to resume marital relations but he felt that electricity he always did when he touched her.

She snaked her hand around his waist, and rubbed his lower back.

Tony felt a prick of worry.

The daily runs without the baby was part of her recovery. The runs promised quiet time.

The day before had been a bad day.

 _When I am physically strong, I am mentally strong,_ she had told the therapist in the first appointment.

"You sure you don't want to go for a run today. You could probably get a quick one in," Tony offered. "The sun is setting pretty late today."

Recovery involved routine.

Tony did not want the routine to fall apart, and recovery to fall apart at the same time.

It seemed like things were only just starting to get better.

"It is okay," Ziva said, as she stood up on tip toes looked over Tony's shoulder, and smiled at Talia. "The baby will be hungry soon, and I did some yoga before I changed. I have had some quiet time."

Tony nodded. Satisfied with her answer.

"You do look nice," he said. "I like that dress on you."

She had been wearing that dress when she graduated. She had been wearing that dress when they told most of their nearest and dearest Talia was on her way. She had worn that dress when they had gone away to celebrate their first wedding anniversary, at the same bed and breakfast they had gotten married at.

Ziva ran her hand down her dress, pressing the permanently stretched fabric over her stomach.

"This old thing," she said softly. "Is one of the few things I own, that actually fits right now."

Tony pulled her closer.

"Let's change that," he said. His phone buzzed in his pocket. "It's about time we introduce our daughter to America's favourite pastime."

Ziva grimaced.

"Is that not how we ended up with her," Ziva declared, with deadpan delivery.

Tony's face flushed bright red.

This was a Ziva from long ago. The woman she was when she first joined the team. When she gave as good as she got.

"Zee-vah," he said dragging out her name, as the blush made its way up to his ears.

Ziva let out a little laugh.

"I think she is a little young for Tyson's corner," Ziva said, referring to the closest mall that had the type of shops Ziva liked. "But perhaps I will go tomorrow. I do need a new swimsuit."

Tony felt pride swell up in him.

The Ziva he had come home to three weeks before hand, would not leave the baby with anyone but him, even when the other person was in the house.

The Ziva that stood before him was planning a trip to the mall, leaving the baby behind for what could be a long morning.

One step at a time, he and Ziva had promised each other in that windowless exam room, and they were walking the long winding road together.

"Sounds good," Tony said. "There's a nice park near there, Talia and I can have some Daddy-daughter time."

Behind them Talia started to whine. In front of them was a knock at the door. Their quiet moment was over.

Tony pressed a kiss into Ziva's forehead and the two of them broke their embrace.

Ziva walked toward Talia, and lifted her out of Senior's arms.

Tony opened the front door, and Abby filled the house, wearing a black sundress and her characteristic platform boots. She presented Tony with a store bought dessert, even though they had told her dozens of times that she did not need to bring anything except herself to Friday dinner.

She wrapped Tony in a hug, and smiled as Ziva and Talia walked toward her. Talia had balled her fists, and her face was directed to Ziva's chest, it was clear what she wanted.

"It's so good to see you," Abby whispered. "I still miss seeing you every day."

Abby quickly broke her hug with Tony, and quickly wrapped her arms around Ziva and Talia. Tony tried not to be too hurt. The baby was everyone's favourite.

"How are you?" Abby asked, as Ziva looked toward the stairs. Abby, despite not having spent much time around small babies realised what was going on, released Ziva from the hug.

They had mere seconds before Talia started to scream bloody murder. Ziva was usually pretty comfortable feeding the baby in front of Senior, but Gibbs and Fornell were due any moment, so a move upstairs to privacy was needed.

"Good," Ziva said, her voice soft, as she rushed toward the stairs. "I am really good."

Everything is going to be okay Tony had told Ziva when she admitted that she was struggling.

And, now for the first time, he wholeheartedly believed it.

 **A/N** : I don't own a thing.

Surprise. The chapter was ready to go so, I didn't want to keep it from you dear readers.

For someone who googled malls local to where I have put or dynamic duo, but I didn't research how to hold a ten week old. I don't spend much time with little humans that small, and my writing of the baby in this fic is definitely a weakness. Thanks for the feedback guest reviewer.

I know, this fic has Senior is a much softer light than the show. I hope the development reads as authentic, in light of previous chapters and in this beasts prequel "Scenes From A Life, Built Together".

Next chapter will feature Tony and Ziva crossing something off Ziva's goal list.

When I first planned this fic, I did plan a whole chapter with Abby and Tony, but this like the Gibbs and Tony chapter it fell flat, so was cut. I struggle with writing Abby.

Thank you so much for all the reviews and kind words.

I'm aiming to have the next chapter up over the weekend. There's probably four chapters, and 1000's of words of authors notes, left of this fic, which has gone on for nearly as long as pregnancy.


	39. To The Lighthouse

**A/N:** This chapter covers some heavy stuff. Look after yourselves friends.

Tony nervously zipped and unzipped his jacket, and he watched the front door of the beach house. Tony stifled a yawn, they had gotten up early to drive to the beach, and the sun set had been late. Talia had not adjusted well to daylight saving.

"Go," Breena said, as she held Talia in her arms behind the closed screen door. "Before it gets too dark. The baby will be fine with us."

Tony crunched the gravel on the driveway under his boat shoes. The shoes that had not had an outing since Labor Day pinched on his feet.

Was it possible to go up a shoe size over winter?

Breena moved Talia's arm so she was waving. The baby was asleep. Making the separation marginally easier.

Ziva stood still on the porch. A loose curl blowing in the sea breeze.

Tony took a few careful steps, and walked toward Ziva. The porch creaked under his weight. He took Ziva's hand in his, and squeezed it.

"Come on sweetcheeks," he whispered. "Let's go before curfew. Don't want to get ourselves grounded."

Breena walked away from the screen door, carrying Talia. Tony saw the shadow of Jimmy, walk toward Breena.

"This brings back memories," Jimmy mumurred, before the familiar dun-dun of streaming service being activated. A few seconds later, there was the theme song of familiar office based sitcom. If the baby was going to be exposed to the evils of the screen, at least it would something tame.

Tony grimaced. Ziva had a lot of opinions about screen time. Most of them negative.

Tony could not wait to show Talia the best of the screen. He could not wait to watch animated kids movies with garish colours and squeaky voices, with his daughter next to him.

"I know I am being ridiculous," Ziva said, as she clung to the screen door. "I know we were working towards this."

Tony squeezed her again. She smelled like sea salt. She was wearing the new clothes she had brought the previous weekend. Everything she had come home with, had drawstring waists, or stretch fabric, but at least the maternity clothes had been put in a bag to be passed on to Delilah.

Oh, how he missed Ziva in tight jeans.

"It is just that I was working towards leaving her with your father," Ziva said, as she let go of the screen. "He knows her almost as well as we do."

Senior had seen Talia at least once a week since she was born, and at least twice a week since Ziva had been diagnosed with postpartum depression. Despite never having changed a diaper until Talia was born, Senior was a rather sweet caregiver. He knew that Talia did not like the rocker, and liked being sung too.

"This is all so sudden," Ziva said, as she turned slightly, looking away from the door.

This was progress, Tony decided.

They had only been at the beach for the day, but Tony felt lighter. Tony and Ziva had only arrived at the beach house after lunch. They had quickly found the Palmer family, sitting under a brightly coloured beach tent on the busy beach, and enjoyed a couple of short hours in the sun, and the sea. The beach with a three month old and two year old in tow was not nearly as relaxing as previous trips to the beach had been.

Still, it had been fun. Talia had liked the sea, but not the gritty texture of the sand. Tony had talked about how natural that a child born under the water sign would be a water baby.

It had been as they were cooking dinner, that it was decided that the two couples would trade off babysitting for the two evenings there were going to be at the beach. The babysitting would be after dinner, after the children were supposed to be settled into sleep. Tony and Ziva would get the first hall pass, after an intense game of rock-paper-scissors between Jimmy and Tony.

Jimmy and Breena had both looked at each other with knowing smiles, as they looked at Talia.

They were still deciding whether to go all in for Palmer Spawn 2.0.

"The Palmerino's are know what they are doing," Tony said softly. "They've kept Tori alive for over two years now, and they're gearing up for round two."

Tori was a couple of months older than their first baby would have been. The almost baby, Tony sometimes thought of it. An unexpected pregnancy that defied birth control and scientific odds. The feelings of loss, he had felt after that happy surprise became a sad moment in a doctors office, had been changed since Talia had been born. Tony wondered if he loved Talia even more, because he knew how much of a miracle she was.

He had told himself that they would not have had Talia, if they had that first baby.

For just a moment, while Jimmy and Breena had both gone back up to the beach house to look for the kid friendly sunscreen they put on Tori, Tony had been left to supervise Tori while she demolished the sandcastles Jimmy had helped her build, and Ziva was feeding the baby. Tony could imagine a universe where both of his children had existed. It would have been loud. It would have been busy.

Maybe, it was an image of the future. Tony and Ziva on the beach with two kids. Talia smashing sandcastles. Another happy and healthy baby in Ziva's arms.

It was a nice image.

"I know," Ziva said as she took a few careful steps. Her new sandals slapped the back of her feet. "It is just hard, I have had her either in my body or my arms for so long. It actually physically hurts. I know it is just evolution but it is hard."

Tony squeezed her hand again.

"We'll be back soon," Tony said, softly. "Tali-bear won't even notice that we are gone."

Ziva took a few more steps. Stepping off the wooden porch and onto the gravel of the driveway.

Tony turned and took one long look at the house. The beach house was a frankenhouse. It had started life as a shack, and then the storage attic had been converted into a bedroom, where Tony and Ziva were to lodge for the weekend. Under the house a basement had been built out, containing another two bedrooms and bathroom. The Palmers had taken the lower floor, and Tori was currently asleep in a pack and play . The design meant the two families would be permitted privacy.

Ziva let go of his hand, and pulled at her cardigan. It was one of those light ones in a sandy colour, which was meant more for coverage than warmth. Tony looked pulled at the zip of his own much thicker jacket.

"It is nice here," Ziva said, as she walked a few steps ahead of him. Tony quickly moved so they were standing side by side.

"It is," he said, as he took her hand again. The wind blew through them. Tony reminded himself it was only May, perhaps a little early for shorts. "Talia likes it too."

Ziva smiled.

"Yes," Ziva whispered. "Maybe, we could go to the beach for labor weekend too. Perhaps we could go to Virginia Beach?"

Tony nodded.

He knew Ziva was taking a leaf out of his book, and distracting herself with talking.

"I think we could do a little better than Virginia Beach," Tony declared, as the reached the end of the long driveway.

Ziva stood on the threshold of the driveway and sidewalk. She looked back at the house. Tony rubbed her knuckles.

"You okay?" he asked.

Ziva nodded, in that over enthusiastic way that Tony knew meant she was lying.

"I will be," Ziva said softly. "I know she is safe with them. I know I need to do this. It was one of my goals."

The goal list had been hastily scribbled in the doctors office, and pinned to the fridge once they were home.

 _Work toward leaving the baby with someone other than Tony._

They continued to amble along the path toward the beach.

"I'm proud of you," he whispered.

Ziva scoffed, but did not retort.

A man being towed by a giant German Shepherd waved at them from across the road. People were so damn friendly in this beach town.

There was the woosh of the sea in the distance. The dinner of salad, grilled fish, and a huge bread roll sat heavy in Tony's stomach. Especially, as Tony had been the only person at the table whose age was in the double digits, who had eaten the bread.

"Why don't you like Virginia Beach?" Ziva asked, after some quiet.

Tony smiled.

"Too many dead marines," he declared, as the cases came back to him like movie montage. "Though most of those were before your time."

Ziva laughed. A full belly laugh.

How long long ago all those grab your gears seemed now.

"Okay," she said. "Maybe, you can think of somewhere we could go."

Tony smiled. He liked planning vacations. Finding the perfect late summer getaway would get him through the boring work days that came with FLETC's lighter summer schedule.

"Well the McCouple are going to Maine," Tony said.

Ziva's eyes went wide, and her mouth dropped open.

"That would be a ten hour drive," Ziva declared, shaking her head. "And, I do not like the idea of a 2 hour plane ride with a six month old."

Tony sucked in a breath.

Talia would be six months old at the end of summer.

She had already changed so much, and so quickly.

Would it always feel like this. Like the treadmill was on too fast, and Tony knew no way to stop it.

"Okay," he said. "Yeah, it probably is a little early to inflict our offspring on a plane full of people. I'll look for something close to home. Do you have any requests MiLady?"

The continued to propel themselves forward, in shuffle rather than a walk.

"I want it to be peaceful," Ziva said softly. "And, close to the sea."

Neither of those were location specific, but he would see what he could find that was less than 4 hours from home, that was not Virginia Beach.

"I'll see what I can do," Tony said, as they reached the corner.

Another couple, a pair who were close in age to Senior, were dragging themselves back up the hill in their matching white outfits.

Tony grimaced. That would be him and Ziva soon. He was not nearly as fit as he was pre-baby.

"What about the Fourth of July weekend?" Tony asked. "Why don't we go away then, for my birthday."

Now that he and Ziva had schedules that took into account weekends and federal holidays, they often celebrated his birthday during Fourth of July festivities.

"I already have something planned for your birthday," Ziva said. "I think you will like it."

Tony smiled.

"As long as we don't tell anyone how old I am," Tony said.

He had made peace with the fact he would be one of the older Dad's at school pick up, but was a little sad that birthday after next would see his age starting with a five.

"Your secret is safe with me," she said, "Even though it is right there on your driver's license."

Ziva stopped, and looked out to the horizon.

"This is beautiful," she said. Her face quickly slipped into a smile. Tony looked out to the horizon. The sun was almost completely set. The whites of the waves was reflected in the moonlight.

"It is," he whispered, as he started to move again.

They walked with slightly more speed this time.

"I want us to do more of these," Tony murmured. His chest ached as he spoke.

Was Ziva ready to hear this?

"Walks?" Ziva asked.

"Yes," Tony said softly. "I definitely need to get more steps in, but I also want us to have some more kid-free time together. We've got quite the army of babysitters."

Tony watched the tension work its way through Ziva in a wave. Then the wave broke.

Abby was practically begging to babysit. While holding the baby during Friday dinner the week before she had listed off her many childcare skills.

"I would like that too," Ziva said.

Tony smiled.

"Dad thinks we need a date night," Tony said. "He's not right about many things, but I think he's right about that."

They had never been the couple who had an assigned date night, but under instructions from various people already in the parenthood club, they had gone on a couple of little dates before the baby came. The dates had included a visit to the art house cinema, where Ziva nearly got stuck in the plush seats, and another had been at an apparently famous diner close to their house, where the burger had given Ziva crazy heartburn.

"I love her," Tony continued, the words slipping out before he had a chance to stop them. "I miss her when I'm at work, and I know these last few months have been hard for you, but I miss us too. I think we might need to become those people who go out religiously every two weeks."

Ziva tugged at his hand.

"I am not saying no," Ziva said, "I agree with everything you are saying.I would like to go on some dates with you, and yes we are probably going to have to schedule these things, but that is okay because we are parents now, and it is all about the routine."

Tony felt a gush of relief. Then the stew of guilt. He had expected the worst.

Why was he always expecting the rug to be pulled out from under him?

"I am sorry that I thought I had to convince you," he said softly. "And, just because we have to schedule the dates, doesn't mean we can't have some great ones. We've had some great dates. Remember that restaurant for our first anniversary after going all-in, where that guy stole my thunder and proposed just before I was going to propose."

They reached the bottom of the hill, and Ziva turned back up to look at the hill. She opened her mouth to say something, when her phone went off.

The notification was shrill, and spooked a seagull that was milling around by a rubbish bin. Tony had watched as Ziva turned the volume of her phone up to its highest setting, while making Breena promise that if Talia so much as whimpered she would call Ziva.

In the distance Tony could the type of laughter that only came from tipsy young people. Tony had visions of spring break, and younger knees.

Tony felt a vibration from the phone in his jacket pocket. He had set his phone to notify him like that when the notification was less important.

Ziva plucked her phone from her pocket quickly, and tapped the passcode.

Fear had made itself at home in Ziva. She was almost shaking.

She pulled up what had caused the notification, and then let out a deep breath. Her shoulders slumped dramatically.

"It is your father," she declared, waving her phone in front of Tony. "With pictures of the cat."

Tony rolled his eyes.

That goddamn cat.

Senior had only officially had the cat just over a week, and so far had sent at least one photo of the creature per day.

At least the old man had gone with the much cooler name Chaplin rather than the Charlie Ziva had suggested.

Tony eyeballed the pictures. The cat was sitting on Senior's lap. Senior had written a witty caption involving the word pussycat.

"I think he loves that cat almost as much as the baby," Tony declared.

Ziva smiled, and slid the phone back into her pocket. Tony noticed that she pressed the buttons on the side that lowered the volume.

This was progress, he decided.

"I think you are probably right," Ziva joked, as wrapped her hand around his shoulder. "Shall we walk to the lighthouse?"

With her spare hand she pointed to the lighthouse, which was at least ten minutes away from where they were. Making it twenty minutes away from the beach house and the baby.

"Yeah," he said, he slid his hand down to her hip.

They ambled along in quiet. The waves were louder now. Tony watched as they crashed onto the sand.

"I wanted to talk to you," Ziva said.

Tony felt his chest heave, and looked to her. Under the poor light of the moon, he tried to judge her mental state.

She seemed okay. Happy even.

She laughed a full body laugh, when they took Talia into the sea for the first time.

The fog over those dark weeks was gone.

They had their routine. Ziva went out for a run most evenings when Tony came home from work. Senior came over on Tuesday and Friday afternoons. Ziva went to the support group.

Could the fog be back?

It felt like it had come so quickly last time, before they could find a path out.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Anxiety ran through him, making his words urgent. "You're feeling okay, right? Like mental health wise."

Ziva stopped.

"Yes," Ziva whispered. "I mean I have good days and bad days, but the thoughts are not so bad anymore. They are like waves, the come but they always break. I am not letting them cause damage."

She was using her therapy words.

"And, despite my hesitance about them," Ziva started. "The antidepressants are helping."

Tony let out a breath slowly.

This was a relief. Pure relief.

He had been expecting the worst.

He was always expecting the worst.

"You'd tell me," Tony asked. "If the waves were getting too big again."

Ziva nodded.

"Of course," Ziva said. "I know I was not good at talking to you when it was bad, but I promise you I would tell you if got bad again."

Tony nodded. His eyes pricked with tears, and a single tear fell down his face.

 _DiNozzo men do not cry,_ a voice in his head echoed.

Shame burnt right through him, making his face red.

This one did, Tony reminded himself.

He had broken the cycle.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" he asked, as he took a couple of stabilizing breaths.

Ziva looked at him. She opened and closed her mouth.

"I wanted to ask you what it looked like to you," Ziva said, as she looked at him. "When the storm was at its worst. I do not trust my memories from that time. Dr Litgrow thought talking about it with you, would help me make sense of that."

Tony took a breath. Then let it out.

Inhale. Exhale.

"You just weren't yourself," Tony admitted.

There the distant chime of the bicycle bell, and Tony and Ziva stepped off and sat down at the sticky picnic table. Their knees bumped. The bicycle whizzed past. The cyclist was not wearing a helmet.

This conversation was best had sitting down. He was not sure he had the strength to hold himself up.

"It was like you'd just shut down," he said, his words urgent. "It felt like we were swimming, and you were struggling but I could not reach you. I want to get to you. I had to get to you."

Ziva snaked her arm around his waist. Anchoring him.

"I knew it's your M.O to just shut down when things get too much," Tony continued, feeling his face get warm. "I know that comes from your childhood, and I know it go you through some things that most people would never cope with, but it felt like you were shutting me out. We always said we would talk about things. It felt like I was losing you."

Ziva's lip quivered.

"There have been times where I thought I lost you," Tony said, as he voice became shaky. "And, when that happened there was always something to fight. This time there was nothing for me to fight. All I could do was wait it out with you, that was so hard."

The Damocles coffin ship.

 _No survivors_.

The video of Ziva being loaded into an ambulance in Morocco. That faint scar that was still on her forehead.

That time Cobb kidnapped her.

Tears fell freely down Ziva's face.

"I know," she whispered. "I also knew I should have talked to you, but it was too hard. You were so happy. It was like the minute you saw her, you fell in love."

Tony ran his teeth over his lip.

"I did. I loved her before she was even here," Tony admitted thinking back to the delivery room. The bright lights. The antiseptic smell. That first cry. "But, then we she was born, the love grew. We had wanted her for so long, but the minute we left the hospital I was a mess."

Ziva frowned.

"You seemed so calm and collected," Ziva declared.

Tony let out a half laugh.

"Fake it till you make it," he declared, with his thousand watt smile. "From the moment we left that hospital parking lot, I was freaking out. I mean I've been to enough traffic accidents to know how many bad drivers there are on the road. Didn't you notice that I was driving like a grandma?"

Ziva shook her head.

"I do not really remember," Ziva said, shaking her head. "Not those first few weeks. It is all just a blur, that was what I was trying to make sense of."

Tony nodded.

"When we were in the hospital there were all these people who knew what they were doing," Tony continued. "I wanted to drive straight back to the hospital. One of those nurses taught me how to make sure the diaper was not too tight. I wanted someone who would hover and tell me what I was doing wrong, before I screwed her up forever."

Ziva looked away from him.

"You seemed so confident," Ziva said, as tears fell down her face. "One some of my worst days, I told myself that if I was not there, that you two would be fine."

Tony felt his throat dry, and bile rise up his throat. He swallowed it down. It burnt.

 _Do you think Ziva wants to hurt herself?_ Her doctor had asked when Tony had called her from Glynco for advise.

Tony took a few deep breaths.

"Did you?" he asked. "Want to-"

He could not form the words to say it. He had to banish those thoughts.

"I would have been a mess, if you have left us," Tony said quickly. "I would not have coped. Please know that. I was so afraid of losing you."

Ziva turned back to look at him. Tears slipped down her face.

"I did not want to hurt myself," she said. "But, I just wanted not to be there. I do not feel like that now. I love her and I am learning to love being a mother."

Tony rubbed her thigh.

"Honestly, I thought it would be me who struggled," Tony said, as he looked at her. "I mean I'm the Dad she probably didn't know the difference between me and the doctor when she was first born. I couldn't feed her like you could. I'd never looked anyone like that before. I did not have a pet when I was growing up. My cousins were older. I don't think I even held a newborn until we visited Breena after Tori was born. That's why I read all the books, and listened to that Dad podcast. I think that's why I hogged the baby when we first came home, I wanted her to know who I was. I wanted you to know that I was in this with you."

Ziva patted his knee.

For too many years, he focused on being the tough guy. Bringing justice to an unjust world. He had not cared for anyone. He had to be strong.

Now, he knew that loving and caring for his daughter would be the strongest thing he ever did.

There were too many children who became angry adults, because their parents were not strong enough.

"You are an amazing father," Ziva said, offering him a smile. "And, a fantastic husband. You are such a good man."

Tony slunk into the seat.

All he ever wanted to be was a good man. Somewhere along the way he had gotten it into his head that he was not a good man

The idea that he was not a good man haunted him.

"I try," Tony said. "And you're an amazing mother. I know it's been hard. I'm proud of you for seeking help."

Ziva licked her lips, and sucked in a deep breath.

All she ever wanted was for someone to be proud of her. In what she considered to be her weakest moment, someone was proud of her.

Tony ran his hands under his eyes to banish away the tears.

Ziva did the same.

"This was supposed to be a date," Ziva said her voice hoarse. "We were going to have fun."

Tony nodded, and flashed his thousand watt smile.

"I know," he uttered. "We probably needed to have this conversation though."

Ziva nodded.

Then both of their phones went off. Hers was a loud vibrate with a beep. His was a softer vibrate.

"If this is another cat photo," Tony muttered, as he opened his phone.

Ziva had already plucked her phone from her pocket, and was looking at what had caused the notification. Tony opened his phone and found a message from Breena, with a photo of Talia asleep on Jimmy's chest.

 _Hi Mom and Dad, I know you're probably missing me, but I'm fine. Enjoy your walk._

Ziva laughed.

"Jimmy really is the baby whisperer isn't he?" Tony asked.

Ziva slid her phone back into her pocket.

Tony mirrored her behaviour and put his phone away.

"I think so," Ziva replied.

Tony grabbed her hand, and squeezed it tightly.

"Are you missing her?" he asked.

Ziva nodded.

"Very every single part of me," Ziva admitted. "Are you?"

Tony nodded.

"Yep," he said. "We've become those people who are obsessed with the baby, it's a miracle we still have friends."

Ziva smiled again.

"We were always going to become those people," Ziva said, with a smile. "Maybe, there is a reason that so many of our friends are parents, or have known us for too long to spook us at this point."

Tony smiled.

"Ghost," Tony replied. "We don't want our friends to ghost us."

Ziva waved her hand in the air. Tony smiled.

He let go of her hand, and pulled himself up from the picnic table. He offered his hand to help Ziva get up, but she shook her head, and got up herself.

Another couple in matching running gear jogged past them. The man lagged behind, and looked like he was trying very hard to look like he was enjoying the late evening run. Tony grimaced. Ziva frowned.

"It is definitely her hobby," she muttered. "His stride is terrible."

Tony took her hand.

"I love you," he whispered. "But, running is not a hobby I want to share with you."

Ziva turned so that they faced each other.

"I love you too," she replied. "And, that is good because I like to run alone, or with friends."

Tony smiled.

"I do want us to spend some more time together," Ziva whispered.

"Yeah," he said, "I'll talk to Dad about some babysitting. You still want to come to the first part of the McBachelorParty extravaganza right?"

The McBachelor party was going to be held two weeks before the wedding, while Delilah was away for the weekend. Tony had initially planned a weekend away, but with Delilah being pregnant, and Ziva still finding her feet, they had decided to stay closer to home. The party would be co-ed, and in two parts. A sensible dinner, and then a surprise where things would get crazy.

"Yes," Ziva said, "I think so, we will see how things go, yes?"

One step at a time, Tony reminded himself.

"Yeah," he said. "I'll pencil Dad in."

The two of them broke apart, and started to walk toward the lighthouse.

"Abby also wants to babysit," Ziva said.

Tony looked toward the lighthouse. It seemed so far away.

"Yeah," Tony said, "Probably not gonna work for the McBachelorParty but we'll keep her on the roster. It's good to have options, right?"

"Yes," Ziva said.

The path became more narrow, as they got closer to the lighthouse.

"Dr Litgrow thinks," Ziva started. Tony's ears pricked up. "That we may benefit from having some joint sessions, where we talk about what happened, and what we want to work towards as parents."

Tony squeezed her hand.

"She's probably right," Tony said.

During Tony's own bachelor party,a booze cruise in the Annapolis harbour, McGee had asked Tony how he and Ziva managed to actually get to the aisle. Especially, as Tim and Delilah were struggling with being on the same continent.

 _Therapy,_ Tony had said before finishing his beer in one long swig. _People as messed up as us needed a ton of therapy to get this far._

From the moment they returned from Israel, and decided to go all in, they had both decided to work on themselves in order to work on being together.

Ziva, having given up the badge and turned her life upside down, attended weekly therapy for six months, and then top up sessions every so often for another six months. She worked to knock down the walls she had built in her first thirty years of life. She worked to break unhealthy coping mechanisms, and build build better ones.

Tony, had not gone for such intensive therapy, but had gone checked in with the therapist at NCIS. He and Ziva had spent many long evenings, cooking in what was still just her warren like apartment, talking about their pasts and planning for the future.

Then when Tony proposed, they had gone to premarital counselling with the Rabbi who had eventually married them. The sessions had been more like structured conversations, where Tony and Ziva discussed what they wanted their life together to look like.

 _Regular weekends away_

 _More than one child, if they were to be so lucky._

 _To remain in the DC metro for the long term._

Now, Ziva was back on the therapist's couch, and attended the weekly support group.

It seemed only right that Tony would end up back there too.

It's us against the world, he had told her long ago.

"I will make the appointment," Ziva said. "When we get home."

Tony nodded.

They shuffled toward the lighthouse.

It had gotten pitch black during the conversation.

The waves were getting louder. So were the drunk teenagers at the other end of the beach.

He missed his daughter. The longing ran deep.

"How attached are you to seeing this lighthouse?" He asked.

Ziva let out a half laugh.

"I thought it would be me who wanted to go back," Ziva declared. "I was so loathe to leave her."

Tony smiled.

"Well, Talia looked pretty comfy on Jimmy's chest," Tony said. "I don't want her to get used to the six pack, and complain when Daddy with his pudgy belly wants a cuddle."

Ziva laughed a full belly laugh.

"She loves you," Ziva declared. "You are her favourite."

"I know," he said, "but I also know that Jimmy is much more in the two kids camp than Breena, and stealing our kid would be much cheaper than another cycle of fertility treatments."

Ziva squeezed his hand.

"They are not going to steal our baby," Ziva said. "I want to get back to her too. I miss her too."

Both of them turned around, and looked toward the hill they would have to get back up to get back to the baby.

"Next time we go on a date night," Tony huffed. "Let's pick something that involves less exercise."

Ziva smirked.

"I can think of some other ways to get our blood pumping," Ziva said.

 **A/N:**

I don't own a thing.

Thanks so much for all of the kind words; reviews, favourites, and tweets. Every one of them warmed my heart.

Next chapter will feature Ziva and Tim, talking about the McBaby and the McWedding.

There are three more chapters of this fic left. I'm hoping to have the fic completed before 17x01, because I'm going to be too busy fangirling after those episodes.


	40. Checking In

Ziva felt a smile dawn on her face, as she opened the front door of her house. Before McGee could say anything, she wrapped her friend in a tight hug that would give Abby a run for her money.

"Hi Ziva," McGee said, as the hug broke apart.

Ziva smiled, at her friend, taking all of him in.

The man she had first met twelve years ago, the one who had been one of the first people to accept her place on the team, was getting married in a week. A man who would be a father within the year.

Where had all the time gone?

How had everything turned out better than any of them could expect?

"It has been too long," Ziva whispered, as she stepped back into the house, wordlessly encouraging McGee to follow her. She heard the rumpling of the paper bag, McGee had in his hand. McGee always brought gifts when he visited.

For almost a decade, bar a couple of horrible summers, Ziva had seen Tim almost every day. She was still getting used to seeing him less often.

 _You are not just any partner to me_ , she had told him once, when a part of Tony's past came back to bite him.

Even though it had been almost four years since she gave up the badge, and she and Tim usually saw each other every week or so, and were in near constant communication, Ziva still missed the dull moments in the squad room. Where because of their odd number; she, Tony, and McGee gently ribbed each other. Like happy siblings, or lifelong friends always did in Tony's movies.

 _You're like another sister to me,_ McGee had told Ziva, during dinner the night before the David-DiNozzo wedding. When he wrapped his arms around Ziva. Ziva had felt so loved. She had only ever wanted to love, and be loved in return.

Tony and Ziva had rented out the whole bed and breakfast, as they intended to have a Sunday morning ceremony. The night before the ceremony, in early September, they had thrown a rehearsal dinner. There was little to rehearse in terms of their simple wedding, but the dozen guests had enjoyed sharing memories of Tony and Ziva's past, and hopes for their future together. It was one of the many happy memories she had of that weekend.

"Yeah," McGee said, as he stepped into the house. He looked toward the living room floor, where Talia was lying on the playmat, with the baby gym above her. She was kicking her legs and arms out, and much to Ziva's relief was content for the moment. McGee waved at the baby. "Hi Talia."

The baby as expected did not respond.

Ziva looked at her daughter, and smiled. Talia was now a little over three months old, and going through a growth spurt. Most days Ziva felt like a cow. Talia's sleep patterns were starting to change, with a long stretch of sleep in the evenings. They were yet to hit the elusive eight hour night, but the two hourly wakings had mostly stopped.

Ziva found herself falling a little more in love with his daughter each day.

"I mean we saw each other at the bachelor party," McGee continued. "But, we didn't really get any one on one time."

Ziva had always done better with friends, when the conversation was one on one, or a large group setting which allowed her to move around the room and engage in small conversations throughout the evening.

McGee's bachelor party, or at least the first part she had attended, had been held at an expensive restaurant in the gentrifying area by the Navy Yard. Tony had gathered all of their family, including a still recovering Gibbs, and Ducky fresh from a conference across the Northern border. The dinner had been casual, but full of love, with Abby and Ducky talking about the Tim McGee they met fourteen years beforehand. Ellie had complimented the food. Not-so-new-guy Nick had called McGee boss no less than three times. After, three glasses of wine Tony had waxed soliloquies about marriage, with his gaze directed at Ziva.

Ziva had enjoyed the dinner, finding her mind drifting to the baby, who was being looked after by Senior, less often than she thought she would. She had found that the jeans, taken from the section of her closet which house all things pre-baby, were too tight. She was back to her pre-baby weight, give or take five pounds, thanks to the appetite the fog had stolen from her, and the near daily runs that came after, but her body felt different. Her hips would never be the same. She did not grieve for her old body, but would like to avoid going clothes shopping.

Under the table, she had found herself reaching under her designed to be oversized blouse, to undo the button of her jeans.

"Did you enjoy the party?" Ziva asked, as she moved from her spot in the living room, to the dining room. The table was still strewn with the breakfast dishes.

It had been a slow Saturday morning, with both Tony and Ziva going back to sleep after Talia's 6am wake-up call.

Ziva leaned across the table, and picked up the coffee cup, and plates. Breakfast had been the french toast that Tony had perfected, using the challah from the previous nights dinner.

"Yes," McGee said with a smile. "I know I told Tony I wanted something low-key, but it was good. I guess we all needed to blow off some steam."

The second part of the McBachelorParty extravaganza, had taken place after the party lost four of its members. Breena and Ziva had gone home their children. Gibbs and Ducky had just gone home, both declaring themselves to be too old. Tony had led the now streamlined group, to a bar, where they had met up with some of McGee's other friends, before going to a retro style arcade, which had adult only Saturday nights and served alcohol.

Tony had arrived home the following morning, smelling like cheap beer, and inexplicably missing only one sock.

There had also been some photos shared, which showed all the party goers happy, as well as a list of high scores on various games.

If Ziva had been able to attend, she would have given Abby a run for her money on dance, dance revolution.

Senior of course, had offered to babysit Talia for the whole evening, but Ziva was still working up to leaving Talia alone for more than a few hours. She was using Talia's feedings as an excuse, even though the spare freezer had more than enough sustenance for Talia.

The party was only a week after Ziva left Talia with someone other than Tony for the first time.

One step at a time, they all promised each other.

"Yes," Ziva said with a smile. "Tony enjoyed himself. He has not really gone out since we had the baby."

The party had been exactly what the family needed.

At the time of the party, it had only been five weeks since Gibbs had been shot. Four weeks since Gibbs had announced that he would not be fighting the medical retirement that Vance wanted him to take. It had only been three weeks since Gibbs had gone home, with Fornell as a babysitter, and pills that had to be organised into a plastic organiser with the days of the week on the front of each compartment.

It had only been just shy of five weeks, since Ziva finally let Tony in. In those four weeks, Tony had pushed himself to be the best husband and father he could be. Ziva could see the way he bent over backwards for her. He rushed home every day, and took Talia for at least an hour, regardless of what kind of day he had. He had always gotten up with her, every time Talia cried during the night, despite the fact he had to get up early start most mornings.

McGee smiled, and placed the paper bag he brought on the kitchen island.

"Um," McGee muttered, as he looked toward the back door, then to the stairs. "Where is Tony?"

Ziva balanced breakfast dishes like a practiced waitress, and dumped them on an island.

She looked at the bag, and noticed the logo from an artisan bakery not far from the McApartment. No doubt something sweet to get Tony through what promised to be a very long day of grunt work.

"He did not text you?" Ziva asked.

McGee tapped his pocket, but shook his head.

"We ran out of wipes," Ziva announced.

The sheer amount of wet wipes they went through was one of the mysteries of early parenthood. While, they always managed to have just enough diapers, and had organised a diaper subscription which delivered a box on their doorstep every two weeks. Wipes seemed to disappear, however many packets they brought.

Ziva tried not to feel too guilty that since Talia had joined them, the rather modest trash output of the David-DiNozzo household had tripled.

"He will be back soon," Ziva said. "I know you two have a lot to do today. We both overslept today."

Because the bride of the McWedding was still battling morning sickness, even into her second trimester, Tony as the best man had been recruited to help with the last minute preparations for the wedding.

McGee looked over to the baby, as she played with her gym. Ziva pulled down the door of the dishwasher.

"Actually," McGee said softly, as he turned back to Ziva. "Between the spreadsheets, and Judy basically giving herself rsi making the centerpieces, we're doing okay. Tony's most needed to help move stuff."

Ziva loaded the coffee cups into the top drawer of the dishwasher.

From the laundry room, the washing machine beeped, announcing it was done. Ziva looked out to the garden through the window. She decided she would be the washing out to dry in the sun. Maybe, she and Talia could spend the afternoon on the deck, enjoying the summer weather. There was a soft breeze in the air, after nearly a week of sweaty humidity.

She had a new book and was finally starting to feel like she might have the energy to read it.

"So, you are using my husband for his body," Ziva said in a joking tone.

She closed the draw of the dishwasher, and look at Tim. McGee's face had flashed red.

"Something like that," McGee said with a smile.

Ziva pointed to the bag.

"And, that is too keep his energy up," Ziva announced, as she pulled the bottom draw of the dishwasher open. She moved the plates from the island, and shook the crumbs off them in the sink, and then loaded them into the dishwasher.

McGee let out a nervous laugh.

"If you want it," McGee said, as he pulled a white cake box out the bag, and opened the box. Ziva moved across the kitchen and looked in the box. Inside was a donut, with pink icing and sprinkles. "I can help you hide the evidence."

Ziva screwed up her nose, and shook her head.

A strand of hair fell on to the ratty t-shirt, she had pulled on that morning. She flicked the hair away. She had been warned about postpartum hair loss, but had not been prepared to find her drain getting clogged with her dark curls.

She had decided to cut her hair in time for the McWedding.

"I will not steal Tony's joy," Ziva declared, as McGee put the cake back in the box and then the bag.

McGee smiled.

"I'm kinda glad we get some time to hang out," McGee announced, as they both hovered around the kitchen island. When Tony and Ziva had gone to the open house for the home at became theirs, the realtor had talked about how the kitchen island would become a gathering place when they had parties. "I've been wanting to check in with you."

During those early months after Ziva put down her guns, and wrote new chapters in her relationships with people she used to run into the fire with. McGee had admitted that he regretted that he had not checked-in with Ziva enough. He had known that Ziva was struggling after Eli died, and even before that when Ziva came home from Somalia, but McGee had not felt like he had the words or the capacity to understand.

Ziva had assured him that even if he had tried to check-in, Ziva would have told him she was fine. She was not ready to talk then. Even if she had been, she would not have felt ready to talk to people she saw every day. As much as she trusted all of them with her life, she still wanted to have the pretense of strength.

For so long, she had conflated opening up with weakness.

Now, she knew better.

Ziva let out a long breath.

"I am good," she said softly. "I have good days, and bad ones. However, the bad days do not feel as bad as they did before. Tony said he talks to you sometimes. I am glad he has that. He has been so supportive, he needs support too."

While, she and Tony were doing better at communicating. Ziva knew Tony still held some of his feelings back. Especially, when it came to talking about those weeks, where Tony was never quite sure what storm he would be coming home too.

 _Men are supposed to be strong_ , Tony had told her once, when they talked. _How am I supposed to tell you I was scared._

They also had spoken to Ziva's therapist together, while Senior took Talia for a walk nearby, and the doctor told the two of them that they were on the right path. They just had to keep talking and going on date nights.

These things take time, the doctor had said.

"Happy to help," McGee whispered. "I know I'm going to be blowing up his phone in a few months with baby questions. Dee and I are trying to just focus on the wedding, but it is hard not to when the wedding and the baby are happening at the same time."

Ziva stepped forward, and placed her hand on McGee's shoulder.

"You are going to be a wonderful father, Tim," Ziva said softly.

McGee's face flushed red.

"As long as I'm better than my Dad, right?" McGee said.

Ziva moved her hand down to his forearm. She rubbed it.

She had this conversation with Tony, except he had the weight of a younger Anthony DiNozzo Senior and Eli David hanging over his head.

At least for Tim, the Admiral was just dead. Tim did not have to wrestle with the fact that his father had changed, and the deep down anger his eight year old self held.

At least for Tim, Delilah's father had loved her, and while his premature death had left pain its wake, it had not aggravated old scars.

"I promise you," Ziva said softly. "You will be a fantastic father."

From the other end of the room, Talia started to complain.

Ziva looked toward the living room. They were supposed to be getting Talia settle herself.

She was still so small.

Talia kept complaining. Her whimpers would be cries soon.

Ziva moved from the kitchen island, and walked toward the living area to collect Talia. In a few seconds, and with some well practiced moves, Talia was rescued from the playmat, and was pulled into Ziva's arms. As soon as Talia was in her mother's arms, she was soothed.

So much for letting the baby self-soothe.

With Talia tight in her arms, Ziva tried to get up from the floor. The baby was heavy in Ziva's arms. Ziva found herself stuck. She looked at the baby, would the baby cope with being put down, so Ziva could get in a better position, so they could both get up without Ziva pulling a muscle.

McGee appeared in front of Ziva.

"Can I help?" McGee asked, offering with his hand out.

Ziva lifted Talia up, and up toward McGee.

McGee's mouth opened and closed his mouth, before using both hands to take the baby.

"Hi Talia," McGee said softly, as he held the baby to his chest. "Woah, you're are little heavier than last time I saw you."

Ziva smiled as she pulled herself up.

"She eats like her father," Ziva announced.

Tim bounced the baby. The baby was happy in Tim's arms.

"Of course you do," McGee whispered. "Your Daddy's a good eater."

Ziva felt a smile across her face. It remained stuck.

"What?" McGee asked as he bounced the baby.

Ziva waved her arm around in front of McGee.

"This looks good on you," Ziva declared.

McGee looked at the baby, and flashed her a smile. The baby babbled.

"Guess, I should be getting some practice in," McGee said. "Won't be long until he's here."

Ziva frowned for a second.

Delilah was not pregnant enough for the anatomy scan, and McGee did not strike her as the type of man who wanted a son to carry on his name.

"He?" Ziva asked.

Tony had been absolutely convinced Talia would be a girl, before they had been able to find out. Was this a slip of the tongue or fatherly intuition?

McGee smiled.

"We only just found out," McGee said. "Delilah is the carrier of a genetic disorder, so we got extra blood tests to find out as early as possible. There's no genetic abnormalities, and the baby has both an X and a Y chromosome."

Ziva nodded, and stepped forward wrapping her arms lightly around Tim, being careful of her daughter.

"Mazel Tov," Ziva whispered.

Talia started to complain. She reached out for Ziva.

The baby would be hungry soon.

Ziva was not sure if she would be comfortable enough to feed the baby in front of Tim.

"I'm kinda freaking out," McGee said, as Ziva carefully took the baby from his arms. "I mean neither Delilah or I were too hung up on gender, we're still just hoping that Delilah and the baby get out of this okay. I kinda thought the baby would be a girl, I mean you and Tony have a girl, Jimmy and Breena have a girl. Gibbs had a-."

Gibbs had a girl.

A little girl who never saw her ninth birthday.

Ziva touched Tim's forearm.

"You will be fine," Ziva said. "And, I will make sure there is no pink in the baby clothes we give you."

Talia had already grown out of so many clothes in just three short months.

McGee shrugged.

"We're really not too fussed," McGee said. "Delilah wanted me to thank you for the maternity clothes by the way."

Ziva had packed up all of the maternity clothes, except for one pair of very comfy stretchy leggings, into a canvas bag to be passed onto Delilah.

"I didn't know if the clothes would be appropriate," Ziva said. "I was pregnant in the winter, and my job had a casual dress code."

McGee nodded.

"She hates shopping,," McGee said. "So, I guess they were good enough."

Talia patted her hand on Ziva's face.

Ziva tenderly pulled the hand away.

Talia put her hand right back on Ziva's cheek.

"It still doesn't feel real," McGee said softly. "I mean everything changing all at once. It feels like I need to call a timeout, and just take a breath. I mean we were planning for Delilah's promotion, and the wedding to be in the same year, but the baby, and Gibbs getting hurt. I didn't think I'd be leading the team."

Ziva adjusted Talia again.

"Vance wants to make it official," McGee whispered. "He's interviewing a few other people, but he's told me the job is mine if I want it. Burley's here for the rest of the month on TAD, but he's going to Rota on July 1."

She knew most of this, because Abby had spilled most of the beans just before Friday dinner a few weeks ago. Vance wanted McGee to approve two Probies to replace Gibbs, allowing them to split the case load, and limit overtime hours. Stan Burley, who now worked on terra firma. since getting married, was on TAD until McGee got back from honeymoon. The conversation had only ended when Gibbs and Fornell had appeared at the front door.

"I kinda wanted to talk to Gibbs about it," McGee said softly, as they moved back into the room so they were sitting down on the couch. "I guess I wanted his blessing, but you know what he's been like the last few weeks."

The Gibbs who had turned up for Friday dinner three weeks out of four, was sullen. He was quiet. Ziva had managed a few brief conversations with the old man, who assured her he was fine, but Ziva could see through that.

At least she knew there were psychotherapist appointments in between physical therapy.

"He calls it your team," Ziva declared. "It is a lot of change for him, he needs some time."

McGee nodded. Ziva was the Gibbs whisperer among them. She would be one of the only ones, who would be able to get him to talk.

Talia started nuzzling at Ziva's chest.

Ziva knew the hunger cues by heart.

They had mere moments before Talia screamed bloody murder.

"I guess I don't think I deserve it," McGee declared, as he looked out to the living area, and the brightly coloured baby mat. "I can't stop thinking about how if I'd been there, we wouldn't be worrying about this."

Talia stretched herself out.

She was getting really hungry.

Ziva pulled down shirt, and unclipped the nursing bra. Talia managed to get a latch, before McGee turned back. McGee's eyes widened as he realised what was happening. Talia snuffled as she ate. Ziva grimaced. McGee directed his face upward, so he was looking at Ziva's forehead, and nowhere near her chest.

"Even if you had been there," Ziva said softly, as Talia continued to eat. "Gibbs would have had to give up the team eventually. He is nearly at retirement age."

McGee nodded. Still keeping his line of sight above Ziva's head, so there was no danger of him catching a glimpse of Ziva's chest.

Ziva knew this was not a disdain of breastfeeding, but a manifestation of American cultural norms. For so long men had been separate from these early days of parenthood. Senior had been similar when Ziva first fed the baby in front of him.

"Maybe," McGee whispered. "But, there's a difference between leaving on your own terms, and having it all taken away from you."

Ziva knew this. She and Tony had talked about this, when he was making his own moves to leave the team.

"Either way," Ziva said softly. "He doesn't blame you. He understands your reasons for not being there. We all do."

"We all do," McGee echoed. His voice shaky.

Ziva looked down at the baby. Talia was happily eating.

"I was angry at you," Ziva said softly. "For not being there, but I was unwell. I was angry at everyone. I know I was wrong."

The anger had been the worst part of the illness.

She was angry that Tony got to go to work everyday, while she was stuck with the baby.

She was angry that the baby had ruined everything.

She was angry that books had not prepared her for all of this.

"I knew something was wrong. You were so quiet," McGee whispered, looking down at his lap. "I knew something was off, and it wasn't just because of what had happened."

Ziva and McGee had only seen each other for a few moments in the hospital, after Gibbs was hurt, but in those few minutes McGee had been able to see right through Ziva's mask.

"My Mom probably had it too," McGee said. "After Sarah was born, and probably after I was born. Dad was deployed when both of us were born."

She had only met Cheryl Thomas formerly McGee once, before Admiral McGee's funeral, when she and Tony picked up Delilah from the airport. It had not been long enough to really get to know the woman, but Ziva could only imagine how hard it would be to care for a newborn completely alone.

"We've been talking more," McGee continued. "Since, we found out about the baby. I asked her about what it was like with Dad being so far away. She never got diagnosed with anything, but she knows that it was hard for her when we were babies. She's gonna come to visit when the baby comes. We're gonna talk more, and try to make sense of some things."

Ziva knew enough about McGee and his mother, to know their relationship had its strains.

"Good," Ziva said softly.

Talia continued to suckle.

She was very hungry today.

The books had talked about a growth spurt that happened around three months.

"I don't know where we're gonna put her," McGee said. "Dani's going to come when the baby is born too. At least we can put my Mom in a hotel for the wedding."

Daniella, Ziva knew was Delilah's older sister, who was an academic in history who lived in the UK, with her husband who was also an academic.

"She's here now isn't she?" Ziva asked, as her arm went numb with Talia's weight.

McGee nodded.

"Yeah," McGee said. "That's why I was so early. I mean I know what it's like to have a sister, one minute you're fighting, and the next you're sharing memories, but I guess it's like a hundred times more intense with two sisters."

Ziva's mind drifted to her mother and her Aunt Nettie, who were always bickering, and always had an opinion about what the other was doing. Nettie especially, had a lot of opinons about Rivka and Eli.

 _This will be you and Tali one day,_ her mother had said, when Ziva complained about the bickering between her mother and her Aunt.

Of course it was never to be.

Sometimes, Ziva wondered what it would have been like if Tali was still there. If Ziva had to find a different name for her daughter.

Would they have had the same long distance sisterhood that Delilah and Daniella had?

Would Tali had jumped on the first plane she could in order to meet her niece?

"They are so close," McGee continued. "I think it's probably because they're so close in age, like not even two years apart. Sarah and I, we're a decade apart, that's almost a whole generation."

Talia unlatched, but continued to nuzzle.

She was not done yet.

Ziva was already exhausted.

Her mouth was Sahara dry.

Ziva closed one cup of the nursing bra, and opened the other cup. She moved Talia so she could reach, and grimaced when Talia latched again.

"Can you get me some water?" Ziva asked. "This makes me very thirsty."

McGee nodded, and rushed up.

Ziva's phone started vibrating from its place on the dining table. It was a notification for a call or text, something that would

"Want me to get that too?" McGee asked in the space between the dining table and the sofa.

Ziva nodded.

"Yes," Ziva said. "Please."

The feelings of being trapped ran through her. She hated being helpless. Vulnerable. Weak.

She took some steadying breaths, reminding herself that she was doing a very important job, and that Tim was happy to help.

Talia suckled, and Ziva heard the opening and closing of some cupboard doors. A few moments later, McGee appeared with a glass of water, and Ziva's phone, and stood in front of her.

Talia was being held by both of Ziva's arms.

"Could you please put the water near my mouth?" Ziva asked. "I do not have any spare hands.."

McGee looked around the room, then moved forward and presented the water to Ziva's lips. He tipped it slightly so Ziva could take a few careful sips, and then Ziva nodded so that McGee could deposit the glass on the coffee table.

"Thank you," Ziva whispered. Her face flushed with embarrassment.

"I suppose I should get used to that too," McGee said softly.

Ziva felt her own face flush red.

"Sorry," she whispered. "Usually, I am more prepared. None of us slept well last night, so today everything had just been hard to get on track."

McGee smiled.

"It's okay," he said, as he placed Ziva's cellphone on her lap.

Talia started to slow her feeding. Ziva tickled her bare feet to insure she did not fall asleep.

Ziva looked in the direction of the burp cloth that was draped over the armchair. McGee noticed, and collected the cloth. He in front of Ziva. The burp cloth over his shoulder.

"I do not think you will need much practice," Ziva announced. "Thank you."

Talia unlatched by dramatically spitting out Ziva's nipple.

She got this flair for the dramatics from her father.

"Can I burp her?" McGee asked. "I used to do it sometimes with Sarah, I think I remember how."

Ziva felt the phone on her lap. She wanted to check her phone.

The old voice, the one from the dark times, told her she was a bad mother for wanting to check her notifications rather than look after her baby.

Ziva quickly banished those thoughts.

McGee just wanted to get the practice in, for when he had his own baby.

She needed a break. She would probably be home alone with the baby all day.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "It is not a very glamorous job."

McGee nodded.

"Yeah," he said, as he flattened the burp blanket over his shoulder. "I mean you're right here, if I screw this up."

Ziva moved the baby, so she was sitting up, and handed her over to McGee.

McGee tenderly took the infant into his arms.

"Hey Talia," McGee whispered. "I might not be as good as your parents, but I'm gonna try."

McGee carefully lifted the baby onto his shoulder, and rubbed her back tenderly.

Ziva smiled, clipped the cup of her bra, pulled up her shirt, and picked up her phone.

"I should get a photo," Ziva said, as she entered her past code. "Tony gets very annoyed when other people do what he does with her."

Tony had been more than a little upset when Breena had sent the picture of Talia asleep on Jimmy's chest, when they went on their first date night.

"Dee would probably want to see it too," McGee said, as he rubbed Talia's back.

Talia let out mighty belch, making McGee jump.

Ziva took a photo, and sent it to both Tony and Delilah.

She pulled down her notifications.

A text from Tony saying he would be home soon.

A google alert for Schmeil, announcing a public memorial and reading of his poems, as the anniversary of his passing approached. She reminded herself she really should get rid of the old google alert, she had set up years ago, when she and Schmeil were still finding their way back to each other.

How had it already been a year?

So much had changed in a year.

Her heart heaved, as she thought of Schmeil. She missed him so much.

Then Ziva opened the email, and a smile crossed her face, even though she still missed Schmeil.

"Looks like we'll be doing that surprise for Daddy's birthday after all," Ziva announced in the same sing song voice they all used with Talia.

"What are you guys doing for him?" McGee asked.

Ziva's face flushed red.

"Sorry," Ziva said. "I am so used to talking to the baby."

She was also used to being alone with the baby. Though those days no longer felt as claustrophobic as they once did.

McGee smiled.

"So what is this surprise?" McGee asked, as he pulled the baby off his shoulder, and into the crook of his arm.

"Do you promise to keep it a surprise?" Ziva said pointing her finger to him.

The question was unnecessary Ziva had always been able to trust McGee.

"From Tony," McGee said, with a smile. Just like old times. "Always."

Ziva opened the browser on her phone and pulled up website.

"Years ago, before we even had Talia, Tony always said he wanted us to be the type of family who takes Christmas card photos," Ziva said, as she handed over the phone to McGee. "It took me a while to work out what he meant. He was talking about professional photos. I found this woman who works not far from where we got married, and specialises in outdoor photos. I thought she would be all booked out, but she had a cancellation. We're going to spend the weekend of his birthday there, and take some photos that would be good enough for a holiday card."

McGee smiled, as he flicked through the website.

"I think he'll really like that," McGee said softly. "These photos are beautiful."

Ziva nodded. She had not told anyone about her plan. Senior could not be trusted with secrets, even the fun ones.

"I hope so," Ziva said.

There was noise from the other end of the house. The back door opened.

"Hello family," Tony said, as he walked through the door with a canvas shopping bag on his shoulder. "And McUncle."

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Because this fic, will end before Tony's birthday, I thought I'd reveal what the birthday surprise is.

Do I have a whole idea that would feature the McMother in this universe? Yes, I do. Will it get written any time soon? No.

The next fic, I write once this is finish will probably be lighter, or more cemented in cannon.

I know that McGee and Delilah had twins in the show, but this fic barely acknowledges cannon.

Thank you so much for all the kind words. I always get excited when I see a notification for a review or favourite.

Next chapter will have Tony and Ziva talking about how far they've come. The fic will end with the McWedding.


	41. Early In The Morning

_Ziva could smell the sea. The wind blew through her hair. Somebody was holding her. She was laying on her stomach. She looked up and saw her mother. Her loose curls around her face. Her face that was chubbier than normal, because of the brother or sister Ziva was getting for her fourth birthday._

 _"Kick Ziva," her mother commanded. Ziva kicked in the water. The ocean was waist high on her mother, but too deep for Ziva. "You know what you are doing, Motek."_

 _Ziva moved her arms. Cupping her hands. She kicked her feet and moved through the water._

 _"See you do not need me," Rivka declared as she let go of Ziva and stepped back. "You are doing this all by yourself."_

 _"Ima," she cried out._

 _Her mother was wrong. Ziva would always need her._

 _A child always needed their mother._

 _"Close your eyes," Rivka said. "You will get salt in them."_

 _Ziva closed her eyes, and swam toward the horizon._

 _Then suddenly she was no longer in water. The golden sands of Haifa were gone. She was upright, taking careful steps. The sun was rising over the Shenandoah valley. Schmeil was next to her. His wrinkly hands in hers._

 _He was already sick but none of them knew. Cells were dividing. Poisoning him from within._

 _It was the morning of her wedding. In a few hours she and Tony would stand under the chuppah held up by four of their friends and promise each other forever._

 _"Oh Ziva," he said wistfully. His eyes glassy. "What a magnificent day this is."_

 _Ziva closed her eyes again. She took in the smells of the valley in early September. A tear fell down her cheek._

 _She opened her eyes again and she was in the ocean again. She was bigger now. Her kicks made more of a wave. She was not swimming to the horizon but to the shore. The shore was different with pebbles in the sand. There was a lighthouse in the distance. A figure stood on the shore. A man with swim trunks and an open Hawian shirt. He was holding a baby, with a little white sunhat._

 _It was Tony. Holding Talia. His arm was outstretched beckoning her. Reaching out for her._

 _Come closer Ziva, we need you, we want you._

 _He husband. Her daughter._

 _Her strokes got more urgent. She had to get back to them. To her family._

She opened her eyes again, and felt the sun on her face. There was noise in the room. She blinked a few times and realised she was in her bedroom. She turned to look at the co-sleeper and found it empty. Worry ran through her. Where was her baby?

Tony's overnight bag was by the door.

Tony stood in the door of their en suite, holding Talia in his arms, sshing her as he rocked her. The sshing was useless Talia continued to whimper.

Ziva frowned as deja vu washed over her. Six weeks ago she had watched this very scene. It had been when the fog still hung over her. When every day felt heavy like she was swimming through mud.

These days she felt light. Free. The fog was not completely but gone, but it was lighter.

"Hi, Sleeping Beauty," Tony said, as he walked toward her. Talia was in his arms. She was so big now. Her chubby little buddha belly hung over her diaper.

 _Three and a half months_ , she had told a friendly stranger when she and Senior shared coffee and pastries. Talia was too old for her age to be counted in weeks.

It would be a matter of time before Talia was too old to have her age counted in months. Soon her age would be counted in years like the rest of them.

One day her baby would be an adult.

"It is so early," Ziva announced, as she pulled her phone from its charger. The phone was fully charged, but Ziva was not.

It had been five hours since Talia had last woke, wanting some more to eat. She was going through a growth spurt. It felt like she was always going through a growth spurt. The books promised the 3am feeds would stop soon, but not after a sleep regression that would take place around four months.

Tony got into the bed, and laid Talia into the space between them. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Not the business casual he was wearing last time. This time it was different.

Today was a happy day.

It was going to be a good day.

"Yeah," Tony said softly. "The McGroom has barely slept, so I'm gonna take him to breakfast to try and calm him down. You can't say your vows on an empty stomach. We all know how much McGoo hates public speaking."

It was finally the day of the McWedding of the century.

After months of planning it was finally here. Weddings and babies were similar in that regard.

Talia started to fall asleep on the duvet. She drooled making a wet spot on the bed linen. Ziva smiled. The baby slept like her father too.

Ziva looked to armchair she often nursed Talia on, and saw her own garment bag laying on top of it, hiding a new dress she had brought for the wedding. Her weekend bag along with another bag for Talia was sitting on the chair. Ziva always packed a good go-bag.

The McWedding started at four. It was being held in a ballroom at a fancy hotel in DC proper. Tony and Ziva had decided that with Tony's role in the wedding, it would be best if they got a hotel room. Neither of them fancied driving home with the baby in tow after such a long day. They were going to make a trip of the wedding.

Abby would be just down the hall if they wanted a babysitter in the morning. Abby was incapable of sleeping in.

"You gonna be okay to get to the hotel?" Tony asked. "I know Talia doesn't love the car seat."

Ziva touched Talia's chubby belly. She kicked her legs out. Her firsts formed into balls. She would be hungry very soon.

"Yes," Ziva said. Driving with Talia in the back no longer filled her with fear. She had managed a few short trips. "We can check in after midday, yes?"

They had managed to get early check-in because they were there for the wedding. They had also paid for late check out, so that they did not have to hustle with the baby in tow. Ziva wondered if she would make the most of Abby's offer of babysitting.

Tony nodded.

"Yeah," Tony said, as he ran his hands through his hair. "Abby said she'll be there about twelve too. She can help with the baby. I'll try and stop by, providing there are no wedding related fires to put out. Tim doesn't want Delilah to get stressed out, so he's given everyone my number."

Delilah her sister and mother had stayed in the hotel the night before. Even though the wedding was almost eight hours away, Ziva suspected the three of them were already up fussing over hair, and the dress. Delilah's morning sickness seemed to have dissipated just in time for the wedding.

Ziva found herself thinking of her own wedding. Of coming back to the room at the bed and breakfast after her walk with Schmeil, with make-up bags, and giggles. That was one of the many happy memories of that beautiful day.

There were so many happy memories of that day.

"You know I think I've spent as much time helping with this wedding as I did ours," Tony said, as Talia fell asleep, and started to snore. Tiny baby snuffles. "I'll be glad when this is over."

"Our wedding was much smaller," Ziva reminded him.

They had a dozen guests, and very little decoration. The bed and breakfast in the valley was more than beautiful enough. They had only added flowers to the table.

The McWedding had a hundred guests, and the bride had been blindsided by the all day sickness that came with the first half of pregnancy.

"I know," Tony said, as he snaked his arms around Ziva's shoulder. "It was a beautiful wedding, wasn't it?"

Tony had defied gendered expectations and planned most of the David-DiNozzo wedding. Ziva had never been the little girl who dreamed of a big white wedding. All she needed was for their wedding to be officiated by a Rabbi, and for all their loved ones to be there. She was also managing a heavy course load and a summer internship in the weeks prior to their wedding. Tony had been the one to decide between the two undetectably different colours of icing for the cake. Cream versus Ivory.

He had proven himself to be quite the party planner. Ziva knew that Talia's first birthday would be a pinterest worthy event. Even if the child would not remember it.

"It was," Ziva said, as she looked at Talia. "I was thinking about our wedding the other day."

Tony looked down at the baby, then up at Ziva.

"Really?" he asked, dragging out the words.

"I was thinking about Schmeil," Ziva said softly. "We took a walk before the wedding, and talked. The sun was rising. It was a beautiful way to start the day."

Tony kept his eyes focused on the baby. His hand on her belly.

"You don't really talk about him," Tony said.

Ziva shook her head, and looked down at the baby.

"No, I do not," Ziva said, as she studied her daughter, watching her tiny chest rose and fell. Ziva counted her tiny breaths. "So much was happening when he died. I do not really think I allowed myself to grieve. I know it has nearly been a year."

Talia kicked in her sleep.

As Schmeil was taking his final breaths. The cells that would become Talia were dividing.

Ziva had not allowed herself to cry for Schmeil. She was too focused on her growing baby. So desperate for this pregnancy to become a baby rather than in tears. Then as the pregnancy progressed her focus had been to become a good mother. There was also that short-lived job that she given her all.

Ziva was used to this delayed grief.

It had not been until she moved to America, that she finally mourned for those that had been taken. She created rituals for them.

For the song bird who never saw seventeen she went to the opera on what would be her birthday. Soon Tali would be dead as many years as she had been alive. Naming her daughter Talia seemed to have brought up a swell of grief for her sister, but that was starting to pitter out.

For her mother she cooked vast feasts every so often. Tony often came home to find baba ganoush, stuffed peppers and tahini cookies. She cooked in a trance, hearing her mother terribly sing old pop songs. She took in the smells. Food smelt like home. Food smelt love.

For Ari the ritual was more solemn. It had been her hand that took him. Some years she went to Gibbs basement and stood where Ari had fallen. She grieved for him. For the man he could have become. With hands that saved lives instead of taking them.

For Eli she lit the yahrzeit candle on the anniversary of his death. She always called Leon Vance, and the two of them stayed on the line for a few minutes saying very little.

It had been four years. Leon had a new girlfriend. Kayla was preparing to graduate high school. Jared was in the robotics team at his high school. Ziva had a whole new life.

Still, Ziva wondered if she had done things differently. If she had told Gibbs what Eli had done, would Jackie have been spared. Would she and Leon be planning their twentieth-fifth anniversary, and finally taking that honeymoon they never took.

"I miss him too," Tony murmured. "I know I did not know him like you did. He knew you forever."

Schmeil had known Ziva since she was three. The longest anyone had ever known her.

Schmeil had been one of the first people she called when she returned from Somalia, still walking in that space between life and death. It had been years since her and Schmeil had exchanged anything except postcards. Schmeil had not understood Ziva's quest for vengeance after Tali's death.

An eye for an eye will make the whole world blind.

So Ziva had distanced herself, and built walls to enclose herself in. Even from the man who had known her since she was three. The man who knew her almost better than herself.

 _Oh Ziva,_ Schmeil had said on the crackly transatlantic line. _We thought you were gone._

The old man sobbed. Heavy exhausted sobs. He had really thought she was dead.

That had been the renewal of their friendship, with the years fell away. Schmeil had held so many of her secrets. He was the only one who knew about the nightmares. The one who knew about the fear that ran through her the first few times she was intimate with Ray.

Their almost weekly transatlantic phone calls became a rhythm. Those phone calls had followed her through the seasons.

She had listened to his wise words as she watched the snow fall. She reminisced with him about her mother as the cherry blossoms blanketed the city. She shared her secrets as sweat ran down her back in the humidity, summer always made the nightmares worse. Then as the leaves fell again they would talk about Tali.

Schmeil knew them too. Schmeil loved them too. Schmeil mourned for them too.

When Ziva had first returned to DC after Schmeil's funeral, grief have been able to trick her into thinking Schmeil was still in Israel with all his books. That he would be calling soon for their weekly chats. That they would be organising a visit soon, before Ziva got too pregnant to fly.

The weeks slowly passed without a call, and Ziva had been forced to come to terms with the fact that there would never be another call. She had not grieved. She had focused on the creature growing inside of her. Something that changed and grew every week. Something she loved, but had not seen. How she wished she could share her musings with Schmeil.

How she wished Schmeil had been able to meet her daughter. To hold her. The oldest person she knew holding the youngest.

"We will tell her all about him," Ziva whispered, as looked down at Talia. "All the stories."

The baby had turned in her sleep. Her little nose, that came from Tony's bloodline, was turned up. Her little mouth, from Ziva's gene pool, was open. Letting out little snores.

"We'll tell her lots of stories," Tony said. "About lots of amazing people."

Talia's little eyes fluttered. She woke up without much fuss.

Tony's phone buzzed.

"I need to go," Tony said, as he looked at his own phone. "I'll see you later."

Tony bent down and placed kisses on Talia's belly. One. Two. Three. She kicked her legs out, and made her happy noise. She was such a happy child.

Tony then got onto his hands and knees looming over Talia, and kissed Ziva on the lips. Ziva kissed back. The old electricity ran between them. She felt like herself.

It was going to be a good day.

A few seconds later, Tony got off the bed, and walked toward the doorway. He lingered in the doorway, his weekend bag slung over his shoulder. He used his spare hand to wave. Ziva waved back.

"I love you," he called as he walked down the stairs. The stairs creaked under his weight.

"I love you too," Ziva called.

Talia started to stir. Ziva picked up the baby, and with a few swift movements opened her sleep shirt so Talia could feed.

She picked up her phone, and flicked through her notifications. She tried not to multitask like this, but it was going to be a busy day, and a long day.

Breena had sent a picture of Tori trying on her outfit for the wedding, with a caption inviting people to take bets on how long it would remain clean for. Tori was a messy child.

Abby had sent a text asking what time Ziva and Talia were going to arrive at the hotel. Ziva replied quickly with the check-in time. Abby replied back suggesting they meet for a late breakfast. The dinner of the wedding was not expected to be served until after six.

"Would you like that, motek?" Ziva asked the baby, as he greedily chomped at Ziva's breast. "To see Auntie Abby. We have not seen her for a long time."

The baby as expected did not respond. Like her father she did not want to be disturbed when she was eating.

Ziva looked to her the weekend bag on the arm chair, and replied in the affirmative.

There was an email from the local library that Ziva had forgotten she had signed up for updates from. The newsletter advised baby story time classes that would be starting in the new school year. The classes would be on Saturday mornings. Ziva instantly thought of Tony, who had been talking about finding something for him and Talia to do together. He started to research baby classes, but had been disappointed to learn that many of those classes were aimed only at mothers, and designed for stay at home parents held during the work week. The few that were on the weekend, were expensive and had a year long wait list. She forwarded the email to Tony.

Talia nuzzled into Ziva's chest.

Ziva found another message, from her new friend Shira, asking how her day was going.

She and Shira had met at the group for mothers suffering from postpartum depression. Both she and Shira had hovered around the exit. Neither of them sure if they were in the right place.

Eventually, the social worker who facilitated the group, had introduced Shira and Ziva. The two of them had started talking, at first about their babies. Speaking with other parents was like sharing stats of sports players.

Shira's daughter Maya was ten days younger than Talia.

Talia had been a full pound heavier than Maya at birth.

Shira had been induced too because she hit 41 weeks, but the pitocin had not worked as well on her. She had suffered through 24 hours of minimal progress before the doctors cut her open. Something that Shira was still coming to terms with. Shira had never failed at anything, and felt like she had failed at birth, even though she had gotten the desired outcome. A healthy happy baby.

The fog had come for different reasons for both women but it lingered for both of them.

Eventually, their conversation had moved from their brown haired babies to their lives.

Both women were raising Jewish daughter with non Jewish partners. Shira had been amazed by Ziva's interfaith wedding. She and her partner had not married mainly because they had not wanted to go through the stress of wedding planning and balancing two different faiths and cultures.

Both women had wondered if they had missed the boat in terms of making friends with other parents.

Shira had moved to DC from the West Coast during her pregnancy, leaving her whole support network behind. She was older than Ziva, but felt younger. Shira was more highly strung, but hilarious. Ziva laughed full belly laughs with her.

After the group was over, and they received a pamphlet about developmental milestones to watch out for, Shia and Ziva had exchanged numbers and kept talking. It started with photos of their babies, but quickly became deeper. They shared secrets. Shira's depression ran deeper than Ziva's, but she too was finding the light.

They now had a standing playdate after group each week. The two of them pushed their gigantic strollers into tiny coffee shops, watching as the other patrons grimaced. Shira had been invited to Friday dinner, but was yet to actually attend.

Finally Ziva had found someone who got it.

 _You need to find your Mom tribe_ , Breena had said, when Ziva was still pregnant. She was huge and heavy. It was the morning of Tori's second birthday. Tony was helping Jimmy hang up a banner. The birthday girl was asleep, having finally gone down her nap. Ziva was eating the club sandwiches that were meant for the small guests. _I'm sure Tony will be very supportive, but you need other Moms too. They know exactly what it's like._

Breena had made her Mom friends during her pregnancy, having 'met' them first online in a group for other women going through fertility treatments in the DC metro area. When all of them finally fell pregnant around the same time, they had broken off formed their own group chat and eventually met in person. Now they too had a standing playdate.

Ziva had not made any friends with other pregnant women when she had been pregnant.

Her friends who were parents had older children. Tori was two. Amira was ten. For Breena and especially Leyla, babyhood was a distant memory.

Ziva had tried with the neighbours. She and the next door neighbour, who had a son a little younger than Tori, had a passing friendship. They shared waves and occasionally parcels of food around holidays, but never secrets.

The other neighbour with children, Aimee who lived across the street, had tried harder with Ziva. During Ziva's pregnancy, Ziva had admired Aimee with her perfect children in gender neutral clothes made of natural fibres. Ziva had then come to envy this perfect neighbour, who seemed to be the perfect mother, even though her husband seemed never to be home. Ziva seemed to forget the times where she had seen the blonde woman mere minutes away from a nervous breakdown.

In those early days of parenthood, Aimee had knocked on Ziva's front door with her perfect children in their double stroller. She had invited Ziva to come for a walk with her. _Just something light, I know you are still recovering._ Ziva had stayed behind the door, so that Aimee could not see her. Talia had started to wail preventing Ziva from pretending they were not home. Eventually, Aimee had walked away, leaving Ziva alone.

Alone in the prison Ziva had built herself into.

Once when Ziva had started to recover, she had ran past the perfect house and Aimee struggling to wrangle her two children out of the car. The boy, the older child was screaming with exhaustion and frustration. The girl had a huge ice cream stain on her linen dress. Ziva's first thought had been smug joy, the perfect mother struggled too. Then guilt washed over her knocking her down a peg. Ziva had stopped in the driveway and offered her own helping hands. Aimee had refused, shaking her head, and saying she was fine.

What prisons of perfection mothers built themselves into.

Ziva was starting to break out of her cage. Maybe she could help others break out of theirs too.

Talia finished eating and Ziva moved the baby to other breast. The baby ate greedily.

A text flashed on her phone Abby had sent her a link to the diner they were going to have brunch at. Ellie would be joining them too. They were to meet an hour before the hotel check in, giving Ziva lots of time to get the baby out of the house.

Just six short weeks ago, leaving the house with the baby, would have felt impossible. There was a pride in knowing how far she had come.

Ziva circled back to Shira's text, and replied with her own text.

 _I am good_ , she wrote. _It is a good day. How are you?_

And she really was in a good place.

It was going to be a good day.

A text made Ziva's phone buzz as Talia unlatched and Ziva moved her to burp her.

Shira was not okay. It had been a bad night. Shira was feeling anxious. Her partner worked weekends so she was alone with the grumpy baby.

Ziva replied asking Shira if she wanted to talk, as Talia let out a huge belch.

Ziva's phone rang a few seconds later, and Ziva picked up.

"Hi Shira," Ziva said, her voice warm, and her ears ready to listen.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

Thank you so much for all of the kind words and reviews. The kind words really mean a lot to me.

This chapter is very much a filler chapter. I wanted to give Ziva a chance to have a final say as the next chapter will be from Tony's point of view. I'm not very happy with how this chapter turned out. I had lots of ideas to tie up. I wanted to show Ziva's journey, how she was coming out on the other side, and helping others. Perfectionism is a beast.

Last chapter will be up next weekend and will feature the McWedding.


	42. The McWedding of the Century

Tony's weekender bounced on his shoulder as McGee let them into the hotel room. McGee let out a heavy sigh, as he hung the matching garment bags in the closet, and leaving the door open. Tony checked his watch.

T minus four hours until the ceremony.

T minus three hours until they would put the suits on.

Timothy McGee was restless.

"Now, I understand why you and Ziva got married so early," McGee announced as he hovered between the bed and the ensuite. His pale Irish complexion splashed with red.

Tony felt the memories wash over him. His and Ziva's mid morning ceremony, which meant there was only an hour allotted for freaking out. While Senior hovered in the room, reminding Tony that Ziva was no runaway bride. The mid morning morning ceremony meant that all the formalities were over in time for lunch. It meant that sweat ran down Ducky's face as he gave a speech. It meant Senior and Schmeil could start boozing at noon. It meant Tony and Ziva danced until sunset. They had laughed until their faces ached. It had been a beautiful day.

It was a cruel trick of time that McGee had almost a whole four hours to freak out. Especially as he had such a nervous disposition.

"Well our wedding was technically on a school night," Tony said, as he settled into the armchair.

The David-DiNozzo wedding had been held on a Sunday, because Ziva had wanted it to be officiated by a Rabbi. Their rabbi was not going to drive two and a half hours in the dark after Shabbat, for an evening ceremony. So Tony and Ziva had turned the wedding celebration into a weekend affair, with a party on the wedding eve.

Tony found his wedding weekend came back to him flashes.

He and Ziva in the sun-room of the bed and breakfast, on the eve of the wedding, both of them loathe to let the other go. They had gotten used to not spending a night apart, after he traded NCIS for Fletc. They were ready for the next day, but wanted just one more minute.

Senior appearing at Tony's door with croissants and coffee. Tony still did not know where Senior had gotten the croissants from. The bed and breakfast was at least a twenty minute drive from civilization, and even further from the type of civilisation that sold croissants. There were some things Tony would never know.

Ziva's warm smile, as she walked down the aisle, with Schmeil and Gibbs either side of her. How she kissed both men on the cheek before stepping under the chuppah, that was held up by four of their friends. As soon Tony and Ziva's hands met. Tony's anxiety disappeared. This was for real. This was forever. Til death do them part.

"Still," McGee whined. "This waiting is killing me. I feel so useless. I mean I've wanted this for so long. Dee and I have spent the better part of a year planning this. What if something goes wrong?"

Tony nodded. Since he had picked McGee up for breakfast, he had found that he was needed to for distraction. The McMother, McMother-in-law and the McSister had been deployed to handle any wedding emergencies. Tony had pocketed McGee's cellphone so that he could not 'check in'. Delilah's sister had done the same thing with Delilah's cellphone. There was a phone tree for the vendors to call if something went wrong. McGee and Delilah's numbers were not on the phone tree.

If it was anyone else Tony might have broken out the flask that was tucked into his weekender. But, a nervous McGee and alcohol was a dangerous combination.

Tony pulled out his phone out of his pocket. Checking the time again. Time was going slowly. Too slowly.

"Just you wait," Tony said, keeping his voice light. "Wait until it's baby time. Then the waiting feels even worse, because your wife is in so much pain, and there isn't a thing you can do."

McGee let out a breath. His face fell into a frown.

 _We're thinking Jack_ , McGee announced while he and Tony were eating their bacon eggs. The diner a block from the McApartment, was busy. Happy families enjoying breakfast. A pair of old ladies gossiping. _For the baby._

 _Jack McGee sounds like a pirate_ , Tony had said, as he added another packet of sugar into the coffee that burnt like battery acid.

Little Jack Fielding McGee would be with them before the year was out.

Tony smiled as he then thought of the holiday table. It would have two extra sets of hands this year. Three innocent faces. Three laughs that would rise high above the table.

Tori, Talia and Jack.

Maybe, one day there would be more pairs of little hands.

Love would never be rationed out to be distributed among the new souls. Instead it would grow exponentially. Love always grows.

"I'm gonna be even more of a mess then," McGee murmured, as he ran his hand over his face. "I'm still getting used to the idea of having a kid."

It still made Tony smile, that people as well versed in probability and science, as Delilah and Tim managed to have an accidental pregnancy.

Tony got up from his seat, and stood in front of McGee. He placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"I promise you," Tony said softly, as he patted the shoulder. "Whatever crazy situation your amazing brain has conjured up, it's not going to happen. Everything is going to go as it's supposed to. You and Delilah are going to get through your vows, take some nice photos, and eat some good food. The guests will only remember how beautiful Delilah looked, and that there was enough booze. You'll think today is the best day of your life. Then in a few months, you will have the actual best day of your life. You'll meet your kid, and nothing else will matter except that your wife and kid are okay. Seeing your kid take their first breath earth side, it will be the most beautiful thing, you've ever seen."

Tony watched as McGee took a few calming breaths.

"You make it sound so easy," McGee said.

Tony stepped back.

If only these things were easy.

"It's not," Tony admitted, his voice shaky. "In fact it's really scary. When the celebrant asks if you promise forever it's scary, because you don't know if you'll be able to give her everything you want to give her, and everything you know she needs. Then when you hold your kid for the first time and you realise that you are that kid's everything. Those two moments will be the scariest of your life, but then after that moment comes the next moment, and things get a little bit easier."

McGee nodded. A silence brewed between them.

"Thank you," McGee said, as he looked down at his shoes. Tennis shoes that had looked so out of place in the foyer of the expensive hotel. "Thank you for being my best man."

Tony smiled.

"What are friends for?" Tony asked.

McGee nodded.

"You're a good friend," McGee said softly. "A best friend."

Tony felt a warm feeling wash through him. He had never been anyone's best friend in a purely platonic way before. His school days had been so lonely, and when he reinvented himself in college he never let anyone get close enough.

He and Timothy Farragut McGee and been through so much together. They were more than best friends. They were brothers in arms.

Tony's phone buzzed in his pocket. McGee's buzzed from Tony's other pocket. McGee's eyes went wide. Everyone who mattered knew about the fact the both bride and groom were not to be disturbed.

Tony pulled his own phone from his pocket, and found it was a picture from Abby.

Talia was sitting in Ellie's arms, while Ellie's dark haired boyfriend looked on with a soft smile. Tony could see Ziva's tanned arm in the corner of the frame.

Tony showed the picture to McGee. McGee let out a breath. Relief.

There were no fires to put out today.

Today was a good day.

"I think we'll be doing this again soon," Tony murmured, as he checked McGee's phone with his other hand, and found the same notification. "Maybe, somewhere not so fancy. Ellie would be the type of person to get married in a barn."

Ellie's boyfriend, a man Tony did not know well, was looking down at Ellie and the baby with a warm smile on his face. Tony knew that look. The look where a man realises that having a wife, and maybe having a kid wouldn't be so bad. There was only so long someone could pretend they were an island.

"Ellie said she doesn't want to get married again," McGee reported. "Once bitten twice shy."

Tony slipped a phone into each pocket of his shorts.

Tony shrugged.

"Never say never," Tony said, sounding like a holiday card.

Maybe there wouldn't be another wedding, but he had no doubt in a few years there would be another kid around the holiday table. He saw the way Ellie looked at Talia.

Maybe more. Jimmy and Breena were talking about round two in the near future. Tony and Ziva's five year plan included another kid. Who knew how many accidental babies Tim and Delilah would manage.

"It's going to be a good day," Tony said. "A really good day."

McGee smiled, and walked towards the bed where both of their bags had been dumped. McGee picked up his weekender bag, and walked toward the bathroom.

"It is," McGee said.

Quickly the noise of the shower running filled the room.

Tony ran his hand over his face, sat down on the bed, and checked both phones again. The flower crisis that Sarah had texted him about had been averted. Ziva had texted him the room number she had checked into. It was the next floor up. Close enough for a quick visit, before the ceremony. Senior had sent a picture of the suit he was wearing.

He reached for his weekender bag, and located the two chargers he had thrown in there that morning. He located the power sockets easily. Tony needed a fully charged phone for all the photos he was going to take.

The shower noise became white noise. Tony thought of the flask he had stashed in the bag. McGee might not be able to handle alcohol on a nervous stomach, but Tony could.

Tony ran his hand over the weekender bag. It was an old one, brought years ago as a go bag, after he got tired of pulling wrinkled suits out from his sporty duffel. This bag, brought from a website named after a river in South America, was a garment bag that turned into a weekender. It was made of fake leather, which was starting to flake, after years of being stuffed into overhead lockers and from sitting on the dusty floors of C-130's in his previous life.

The zipper on the rather useless front pocket had given out during a case, back when he and Ziva still worked together, and Ziva had replaced it with a paperclip. Ziva always carried a paper clip with her, even now long after she laid down her guns. Tony had his eye on an expensive genuine leather garment bag weekender, that would cost half a mortgage payment but had yet to pull the trigger, even though the website kept offering him fifteen percent off.

Still, he held onto tightly. He had taken the bags to so many places.

A year ago, Tony had stuffed his black funeral suit into the garment section, and dithered about what else to pack. What did one pack to watch someone die? Ziva had told him not to pack too much, because there was a washing machine in Schmeil's apartment. Still, to Tony the thought of doing a load of laundry while the man in the next room was actively dying, felt weird. Disrespectful to impending death. He also had to transport Ziva's black heels for the funeral, as she had forgotten them in the stress of finding about Schmeil's illness and making arrangements to go to Israel. The shoes which had been packed into Tony's personal item, had gotten some raised eyebrows from both TSA, and the Israeli equivalent on the other side.

Then when he had packed his bag to go home, with the knowledge that if everything went to plan two would soon become three. He had ended up with the heels in his bag too, as the shoe compartment in Ziva's bag had photos taken from the farmhouse and a book from Schmeil's shelf. She was clinging onto every part of Schmeil she could.

The bag had gotten another outing a few weeks later, for the belated birthday weekend with Senior. Tony had not needed more than his toothbrush and a change of underwear, but Tony had stuffed the bag with boxes of crackers that had been Ziva's only sustenance for those exhausting early weeks of pregnancy. It had been on that trip, while Tony and Senior learnt about how the fertile soil of Virginia created different tastes in wine, that Ziva let go of the fear that punctuated those early weeks. The rug was not going to be pulled out from under them this time.

Tony had packed the bag in a haste a month later before the drove to the bed and breakfast where they married, looking over the Shenandoah valley. They had made it to their first anniversary. The pilgrimage had been to prove to the universe that people as messed up as them had made it. It was there, in the early morning sun they talked about what they wanted for this baby. They imagined a future.

There had been a quick trip, before the baby was due. To the Brandywine valley for Ziva's birthday. It had been on that trip, that Tony had stuffed a baby bonnet into the useless front pocket. The pink bonnet had been brought from a craft market they meandered through between museum hopping, and various stops for snacks. The bonnet had been forgotten about when Tony unpacked.

Then there had been the biggest trip taken, not in distance but in journey. Ziva had tried to keep what she took to the hospital small, but things kept getting added to the list. So his bag was pulled out. He stuffed a change of clothes, and a phone charger into his bag, along with the extra diapers. Tony had carried the three bags; his, hers, and the one for the baby, like a work horse behind a waddling Ziva along those white walled halls. The smell of disinfectant irritating Tony's nostrils.

Then four days later, he had done the same thing, balancing Ziva's tote, his weekender, and the diaper bag. Ziva sitting in the wheelchair, that she had initially refused to use. Talia in the sling on Ziva's chest. Her tiny head under that bonnet he had forgotten about. The bonnet had been discovered when Tony was looking for somewhere to stash the phone charger.

The next time Tony had packed the bag, had been in preparation for that trip to Glynco. Tony had packed and repacked that bag multiple times, hoping to banish the anxiety he had about leaving Ziva. He knew she was struggling. The bag had been a weight on his shoulder as he followed his colleagues through the airport at Jacksonville, his phone to pressed to his ear, and McGee revealed that Gibbs' had been shot. Tony turned around in the airport and nearly crashed into a retiree pulling a wheelie suitcase. Despite everything his gut had told him, he had not gotten back on a plane to DC. Those three days in Glynco had been filled with worry. Not only for Gibbs.

The most recent trip had been to the beach. Ziva looking lighter than she had been. They had finally named the beast, and were working to slay it. He had packed an extra pair of pants he did not wear, and more t-shirts than days, because traveling with a nearly three month old meant no shirt was safe. Spare diapers, and a packet of wipes had been stuffed between his swim trunks and dopp kit. The bag still smelled like sea salt, and Tony had inexplicably found sand in the pocket, even though the bag had never left the beach house. It had been on that trip, that Tony had started to feel like they were on the other side of something. The fog was almost gone. Talia had dipped her tiny little feet in the ocean on that trip. Ziva had laughed a full belly laugh, as Talia kicked out into the sea.

The night before when he was full from Friday dinner, he laid out the three bags for the three of them on his and Ziva's bed, while the baby lazily nursed. Ziva was listing off the baby items they would need from her throne, while she held their princess.

 _We really need to get you a new bag_ , Ziva had said, as she moved positions ever so slightly. Talia was getting heavier. Too heavy to hold in one position for too long. Talia suckled greedily, unfazed by it all.

 _This one still has some adventures left in it,_ Tony had said, as he counted out some diapers. They always took double the amount they needed. Better to be prepared, they always said.

 _You sound like Gibbs_ , Ziva had said, as she moved Talia to her other breast.

And, there were more adventures to come. The birthday trip Ziva had organised, which all Tony knew was that it was to a place they had been before, and that he needed to pack a nice outfit. The beach trip they were thinking of taking for labor weekend. The Maryland coast this time, with Senior in tow. Ziva's birthday fell on a weekend this year too, he would plan an adventure for the three of them to take. Maybe, they would take Talia on her first plane. They could fly south for the winter like the birds.

With the wedding, it had felt like the story was ending, but there was so much more story to tell.

So much more life to live.

Tony heard a knock on the door and he noticed white noise of the shower stopped.

Tony got up from the bed, and walked to open the door. Gibbs stood there, wearing the same suit he had worn for Tony's wedding. It hung off him. The drugs he was on since he had gotten shot had stolen his appetite. The older man leaned on his cane, but the sling of previous weeks was gone. The cane would be gone in the coming months, but a limp would remain.

"He's a mess, boss," Tony said, as he stepped backwards to let Gibbs in. "I've never seen him so nervous."

Gibbs smirked. The door to the bathroom opened with a creak, and McGee stepped out in the hotel robe, with a red face.

"You were just as bad," Gibbs declared.

Tony remembered Gibbs knocking on the door of the bed and breakfast. A smile on his face, as he announced that Ziva would be ready to go in half an hour.

 _I'm a mess boss_ , _I've never been this nervous,_ Tony had said, as he tugged on the tie, Senior had helped him tie.

 _I'd be worried if you weren't_ , Gibbs replied, as he tapped Tony's shoulder.

"Were you?" Tony asked, as he looked around the room. "Like this?"

Brave Gibbs, would never have caught a case of the nerves. He stared death in the face too many times.

"Only the first time," Gibbs declared, as he pulled out a jewelry box from his suit pocket.

Tony knew what it was. It was the same watch Jackson Gibbs had given his son on his first wedding day. The same watch had worn when he and Ziva said their vows. The same watch McGee would wear on his wrist as he and Delilah promised each other forever.

* * *

There were moments from the McWedding ceremony that Tony knew would stored in mind like snapshots.

Ziva waving at him as she took her seat behind the McGee side of the aisle. Talia strapped to her chest in a terracotta sling the same colour as her dress. A dress he had not seen her in before. It reminded him of their trip to Italy years ago. The terracotta roof tiles they saw from their balcony.

The McMother-in-law crying big fat wet tears as Delilah wheeled down the aisle. Delilah's sister by her side. The bouquet covering the ever so slight baby bump. The McBaby was not public knowledge yet, but an open secret.

The way McGee stiffened as Tony put the chair under him. So he and Delilah could hold hands and look into each other's eyes while they recited their promises of forever.

The moment where McGee's voice cracked as he recited his vows. Tony was close enough to see the tear that fell down McGee's face.

The almost one hundred pairs of hands that clapped so loudly when the celebrant pronounced Tim and Delilah husband and wife. Tori sitting on Jimmy's lap, and clapping enthusiastically. Talia's head poking out of the sling. The golden headband around her curls.

* * *

Tony bounced on his feet as he walked toward the ballroom where the reception was being held. It had been almost an hour since the ceremony had ended, and the guests had been released to a cocktail hour. Tony's work was still not done. There were still photos to take. Tony's face ached from all the smiling, but he kept smiling.

Today was a good day.

The bride and groom were enjoying some quiet time, before the party. Tony had been the one to suggest that the newlyweds have a non-religious yichud. A few moments of peace. A few moments to let it all sink in.

Tony hovered by the sign in front of the ball room, announcing the nuptials of Timothy Farragut McGee and Delilah Louise Fielding, in gold cursive writing. From Tony's vantage point he could see Ned Dorneget and his husband enjoying the signature wedding cocktail. Ned waved. Senior and the McMother-in-law Judy were talking. Judy laughed, and touched Senior's forearm.

In the down time, before waiting for the wedding, Tony and McGee had split a bottle of beer over two glasses, they had made bets on how long it would take Senior to ask Judy to dance, and whether Judy would say yes. There was ten bucks on the line. Tony realised he was about to lose the bet.

A pair of guests sauntered past Tony. Tony did not recognise them, so assumed they were Delilah's friends from work. In the inside pocket of Tony's suit was his best man speech that talked about how the Fielding-McGee wedding was not just the marrying of two families, but four; The Fielding's, The McGee's, The DoD and NCIS. The Thanksgiving table was about to get crowded.

Tony hovered by the entrance. Enjoying the quiet. Admiring his handiwork. He could see the hundred goody bags that he had helped to pack, each with a piece of thick card, announcing the McBaby on the way. He saw the photo wall he had helped build, with photos in chronological order detailing Tim and Delilah's relationship.

Then he heard the familiar babble of his daughter. Tony looked to where the noise was coming from. There had been a corner at the edge of the ballroom that was cordoned off by a red velvet screen. A quiet space, it said on the program. It had been meant for the guests with kids or those who needed a moment.

Today was a happy day, but for some people the day would be a hard one.

There was another photo wall near the gift bags, of those who were guests of the wedding in spirit; The Admiral,Delilah's father, and Kate. A tiny part of him wondered what Kate would have made of all of this.

Tony took the ten steps to the little room.

He knocked on the frame of the screen. Ziva was bouncing Talia on her lap. The ruffles of her Talia's burgundy coloured dress moved with the motion. The diaper bag was open. Ziva's heels were in a pile on the floor.

"Hi," Ziva said looking up at him. Her dark eyes lined by make up. Her lips painted.

"Hi," Tony said, as he stepped in. "I see we lost the headband."

Ziva nodded, as she ran her hand through Talia's curls.

"I think Abby picked it up," Ziva said, as she patted the space next to her on the bench. Tony sat down, and patted Talia's curls. Her face was red and tear streaked. She'd had a meltdown. Tony studied Ziva's face looking for signs of a similar meltdown, but to his relief found none. What a difference a few weeks made? "She did so well during the ceremony, but when she started I had to get out quickly."

Tony had made sure that Ziva had a seat on the edge. Where she could sneak down the side aisle if Talia got too fussy. It appeared that Talia had gotten through the ceremony, only to crack at the end.

"Come here Princess," Tony said as he offered out his arms. Ziva let Tony take the baby from her arms. She laid the burp cloth on Tony's shoulder. "I know it's been a busy day, and you've been so good. When you're older, you'll realise just how amazing today was. Daddy never thought McUncle would get married. It took him so long to propose."

"She is out of routine, that is why she is so grumpy," Ziva murmured, as she adjusted her dress.

The soft terracotta colour, which complimented the tan she had gotten over the last few weeks. It was the same wrap style she had come to favour in the last year. It was new, and she had deliberately kept the dress hidden from him the guest room closet. Even though Tony had told her it was only bad luck if the groom saw the brides dress before the wedding. The dress looked amazing on her. Memories of that dress would sustain Tony through many lengthy commutes.

"And, it was a lovely ceremony," Ziva announced.

Tony smiled as he moved Talia slightly. She was awake but quiet. Tony looked at Ziva. Her hair was fashioned into a french braid, and Tony noticed that she was wearing the earrings he had gotten her for their first Valentine's day together. Her special event earrings. _My favorites,_ she always said when she put them on.

Tony looked to her bare rests and thought of the bracelet he kept coming back to when he had some free time to muck around on the internet. A delicate gold chain with pendants hanging off them. There was room for multiple pendants.

Talia's birthstone was aquamarine.

His new weekender bag could wait.

"It was," Tony whispered, as he pawed at her dress. "This dress is beautiful."

Ziva turned so they were facing each other. She gave him a huge smile.

"Thank you," Ziva said, as she pressed her hand onto Tony's thigh. "You have scrubbed up pretty well too."

Talia started to fall asleep in Tony's arms. The calm after the storm. Tony had missed the storm today.

Ziva rubbed Talia's hair, and pulled at the sling on her torso.

"I thought our one of these was blue," Tony said, as he touched the soft fabric.

"It is teal," Ziva said. "This is Shrira's, we have swapped. The teal clashed with my dress, and the baby carrier you like looks too sporty. We're thinking of making the swap permanent. It is a nice colour, yes?"

Despite their attempts to keep their baby gear minimalistic, they had ended up with two baby carriers. Ziva had the sling that she liked, which was really just a yard of fabric with a large ring at the end. Tony preferred the carrier that looked like a backpack, with it's buckles and adjustable straps. Tony's preferred carrier felt scientific, and ergonomic.

"Shira and Maya are coming to dinner on Friday," Ziva announced. "I was on the phone to her earlier, when you called. She had a bad night, but she is okay now. Andrew is on nights at the moment, and it is hard for Shira."

He only knew Ziva's friend Shira from stories. Shira who had similar struggles to Ziva. Shira who was Jewish too. Shira who had a daughter Maya who was ten days younger Talia. Shira whose partner was a doctor, whose job had moved them to DC, and who worked too many hours.

"Cool," Tony said softly. "It'll be nice to meet finally them."

They still had so many adventures to come.

More happy dinners as they watched sunset through their back windows.

More weekends away showing Talia the world.

More laughter from more faces around their huge dining table. Their house was always meant to be filled.

"It will be very loud," Ziva said, softly, as she leaned forward to slip her heels back on. "With two babies, but I think it will be good for Shira."

Tony kissed Talia's head. Ziva came back up and adjusted the sling. Tony lifted Talia into the air, and maneuvered her into the sling. Talia went into it easily, having exhausted herself from meltdown. Ziva rubbed Talia's back rhythmically.

"Sounds like a party," Tony said, as he got up and picked up the diaper bag. He stuffed the burp cloth in the bag, and balanced it on his shoulder. He handed Ziva her wristlet. She slipped it onto her wrist.

He offered Ziva his hand. She took his hand, and pulled herself up.

Tony patted Talia's curls, as he and Ziva stood facing each other, wearing matching smiles. Tony leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her lips.

Today was a good day.

A happy day.

A pair of platform boots appeared in under the screen, and there was a knock on the frame. Tony and Ziva broke apart their kiss. Tony opened the screen slightly and Abby appeared. Abby was wearing a black dress, with Victorian detailing. Her hair in little buns on her head, like ears. A choker around her neck.

"There you guys are," she said, bouncing on her platform boots. Her best platform boots. "You're missing the party."

* * *

There would be moments that Tony would remember from the McWedding reception. Little scenes that played through his head when he drove home from work, or sat through a boring meeting.

He would remember Talia drooling on his suit, after Ziva handed the baby off to him. Talia biting his fingers, while he tried to eat his sorbet with one arm. He would remember that sitting at the head table was like being in a goldfish bowl, and Talia caught everyone's eye.

He would remember how Talia squawked from her position in Ziva's arms, when he took the microphone from the McMother, and how he joked that at least one person in the room found him funny. That impromptu joke went down better that the one about the wedding being the joining of four families.

He would remember slipping McGee a ten dollar bill, as Senior led Judy onto the dance floor. Tony had thought Judy would have had more willpower. Not accepting Senior's offer the first time he asked.

He would remember dancing with Ziva. First with Talia in the sling, her little head poking out of the sling. Then after leaving a sleepy Talia with Abby, Tony rested his hands on Ziva's hips, with beer on his breath, he told her how much he loved her.

He would remember walking back to the table, and finding Talia asleep on Gibbs' chest. Gibbs bad leg propped on another chair. Gibbs' eyes closed. Tony would remember one of Gibbs' eyes opening as Tony pulled out his phone to take a picture. For just a second, Tony would swear a smile crossed Gibbs' face as the camera flashed.

Then he would remember the end of the wedding, watching as the black vested hotel staff started to discreetly pick up glasses, and pile up chairs. He would remember helping Gibbs up. Gibbs more steady on his feet than Tony. He would remember slipping the diaper bag over his shoulder. His bow tie undone, and his eyes heavy. He would remember Ziva rubbing Talia's back through the sling. Talia's tiny eyes drooping. He would remember resting his arm around Ziva's hip. Her heels clacking on the art deco style hallway, as they walked to the elevator.

"I love you," Ziva whispered as they stepped into the elevator.

Tony pressed the button for their floor. The elevator started to move. The little screen on the top announced the numbers. He pulled Ziva closer.

4,5,6,7.

"I love you too," Tony replied, as they reached their floor, and announced it with a soft beep.

Tony stepped out of the elevator, and offered his hand. Ziva took it, and squeezed it. The two of them walked toward their hotel room, hand in hand.

Like it was meant to be.

Like it always would be.

 **A/N** :

I don't own a thing.

There we go we have reached the end. To reduce it to some stats, here is 42 chapters, 38 weeks, and over 189,000 words. (With at least 50k of those words being authors notes).

Thank you to everyone who has trudged through this mess. This is the longest thing I've ever written. Thank you so much for reading. While, I'm going to go to my grave not entirely happy with how this turned out (perfectionism you cruel mistress). I like to think this fic has helped me grow as a writer. I hope everyone has enjoyed the journey.

It will be awhile until we get more from this universe, but I've got other ideas for fics, so keep an eye out.

I can't wait to see what the new second brings, and it's been nearly a decade since I've been excited for an episode of NCIS. When I started writing this fic back in January, who'd have thought the CdP would be back, and for four episodes. I'm cautious to see what they've done, but I know that if I really don't like it, I can slip back into old habits, and write about them like this. Two people who knew they were messed up, did the work to be together, and keep growing and changing together. Heck, even if I love what becomes cannon, I'll still write them like this.

Thank you so much to everyone who has, reviewed, followed, favourite or tweeted about this fic. Every kind word means a lot.

Special thanks to; JamicanTIVAlove, DS2010, Hippiechic81, BeccaLouise91, SueDooley, AmyV24, misspatchesmom, Leann Nickerson, Sue Dooley, TivaRulesInGreece, Hetwaszoietsals, sl_52311, Kangajo, Mandy-muis, Dr1zzy, Debs, Patti Lipscomb, Gabrielle Spaziano, Margaret1945, krg11, BohoAngel, -carlota, Lynn, celestrial moon, priscious, destinydebs, Syrae, Denise3130 and the guest reviewers.

I'm going to miss talking to all of you. I'm on twitter if you miss me aliceisfunny. I sometimes rant my feelings about various episodes etc on there. I also post pictures of my cat.


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